


Come Together

by NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Content, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: Years following the war, Hermione has found her purpose as an advocate for the welfare of magical children. As she works tirelessly to bring positive change to the Wizarding world, she finds herself up against more than she could have ever imagined.Luckily, she’s not alone. Two Aurors stand by her side, ready to take on the world for her. But as their relationship unfolds, old magic resurfaces, desperate to bring them together.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 183
Kudos: 823





	1. Little child, won't you dance with me?

**Author's Note:**

> All my love and thanks to the fabulous [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347) for her impeccable alpha skills, and to the lovely [ravenslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight) for the excellent beta work

_Click-clack, click-clack_

Hermione’s heels made her approach down the hallway of St. Mungo’s less than stealthy. Heads popped out of the nurse’s station, voices greeting her as she walked by.

“Hello, Stella! Good to see you, Adam.”

Her job often brought her to the hospital, and with all the time she spent here, she’d gotten to know many of the staff.

The hospital was a good place, run by people that genuinely cared about the community. The children’s ward, in particular, was staffed by competent witches and wizards that had devoted their lives to healing.

It was in that ward that Hermione spent most of her time when she was at St. Mungo’s. 

The war had left no shortage of children without parents, and in the years following as Wizarding Britain attempted to rebuild, the orphaned and abandoned little ones had no one. Calling upon all her favours as a war heroine, Hermione created a position within the Ministry to shore up the cracks and ensure more children didn’t fall to the wayside. 

Though not an easy job by far, she loved it like little else. It was hard-won—she’d personally petitioned the Minister to allow her to create a new division within the DMLE to handle services for children and families. They were far overdue for a change. Muggles had a system for children in need, though flawed, and Hermione thought it was high time the magical community followed suit and protected and cared for its most vulnerable citizens. 

And so, the _Children’s Services Department_ , a subdivision of the _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ , was born. Hermione worked with local magical law enforcement officers and frequented the courtrooms of the Wizengamot; it was the most rewarding thing she could have chosen to do with her life. 

On nights when the emotional toll such a position came with was too much, Hermione went home, drew a bath, and cried until her head hurt. Time and again, the world had proved to be an unfair place, but any opportunity she had to make it a little less cruel, she would grasp with both hands.

Today she was meeting with Elenor Walton, a sweet six-year-old witch who had lost her mother in a fiendfyre incident started by her father. The Aurors had investigated and declared it an accident, but after meeting with the father, Hermione got a niggling feeling that something wasn’t right. 

Her goal was to place Elenor with her grandmother. When Hermione had done the preliminary interviews, there wasn’t enough evidence to declare the father unfit despite her concerns. But then he’d refused help for temporary shelter and lied about having a place to stay, instead dragging his daughter through the seediest parts of the city in the dead of winter, earning her a nasty case of dragon pox and a month-long hospital stay. 

Now Hermione had a reason to back her suspicions and was doing everything she could to prove that Elenor should not, under any circumstances, be returned into the care of her father upon being discharged from the hospital.

The Ministry proved useless, throwing up red tape at every turn. Even beyond Elenor’s grandmother needing to pass a home inspection, there was still a ridiculous amount of hoops to jump through and paperwork to fill out.

It was quiet in the far corner of the children’s ward; Hermione hurried over to the last curtained cubicle on the right and peeked inside with a small smile and a wave. “Good afternoon, Elenor!”

“Miss ‘Mione!” Elenor might be the only person Hermione allowed to call her by that silly name—other than Harry and Ron.

She looked so tiny on the bed, tucked under blankets with a stuffed hippogriff on her lap. Her skin had a greenish tinge, but no matter how she was feeling, Elenor remained a ray of sunshine. The sweetest smile always lit up her face, and these meetings with little Elle had quickly become the highlight of Hermione’s week.

Sitting down in the rickety chair next to the bed, Hermione pulled a file out of her bag. “How is Rooly feeling? Better I hope, after his fall.”

Elenor sneezed, sparks shooting out of her nose before she brushed her chubby fingers across the top of her Hippogriff. “Yes, he’s fine now. Healer McCarthy gave him a shot and it made him all better.”

“Glad to hear it!” Hermione continued, asking Elenor how she was doing, if anyone had been to see her, and general questions to suss out her wellbeing. When the serious part of their conversation was over, the little girl smiled and leaned in conspiratorially to whisper in Hermione’s direction.

“Did you bring me a treat this time?”

Hermione laughed. “Shhh, don’t tell the healer. I did sneak a little something inside my purse for you.” Reaching into the depths of her bag, she pulled out a little purple and gold box.

Elenor beamed and clapped her hands. “A chocolate frog!” she squealed. “Oh Miss ‘Mione, you’re the best.” Prying the box open, she giggled with glee when the frog hopped out, tiny hands flying out to catch it before it could escape.

“Only half now, all right? I don’t want to be responsible for spoiling your dinner, little miss.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Elenor caught the chocolate frog by its foot and brought it to her mouth, taking a big bite with her little gap teeth.

“Well now, look at these two pretty ladies we’ve stumbled upon,” a deep voice said from behind Hermione.

“Mister Draco!” Elenor clapped her hands again. “Mister Harry, too?”

“Hello, Miss Elle.” Harry stepped out from behind Malfoy. “You’re looking chipper today.”

Levelling Harry with a serious expression, Eleanor whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”

Harry swung his head around comically as if he were looking to see if anyone was standing nearby then held up a hand. “I promise. Auror’s honour.”

“Miss ‘Mione brought me sweets.”

Draco gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. “Sneaking contraband into a hospital now, Granger? How naughty of you.”

“It’s for a good cause,” Hermione said, winking at Elenor.

“I _am_ a good cause, aren’t I, Mister Draco?” Big blue eyes looked up at Malfoy from beneath fluttering lashes, and Hermione stifled a laugh. The little witch was already figuring out how to make wizards melt at her feet. She’d had Harry and Draco wrapped around her itty bitty finger from the first day they met her.

Hermione went over her notes while Harry and Draco entertained the child. She loved to see their badges and the “cool thingies they can do with their wands!”

A few minutes passed before Hermione looked up to see Elenor with rosy cheeks and delight sparkling in her eyes, pleading for Harry to make more sparks with his wand.

“Again, again!” 

Clearing her throat, Hermione said, “Well gentlemen, I think it’s time we leave Elenor so she can get some rest.”

Gathering her things back into her briefcase, she rose and said a quick goodbye, reaching for the little girl’s hand and squeezing lightly. “I’ll see you next week!”

They said their goodbyes, and the three of them left the children’s ward, making their way down the long hallway on the second floor. Harry and Draco walked on either side of her, as they always did, almost as if at any moment some cartoon villain with a twirly moustache might jump out and stuff her in a sack. She found it rather sweet, if not a bit ridiculous.

“What brought you here?”

Harry shook his head. “Government poppycock. We’d have caught the bad guy a hell of a lot faster if there were better protocol already in place. As it is, we can’t do anything without requesting approval. It’s mad.”

“I know what you mean. I just came from a hearing where things would have gone so much smoother for the poor child if we’d just had a standard operating procedure. It’s like the Ministry doesn’t give a fig about the messy cases, the ones they can’t easily tie up in a neat bow.”

“They don’t.” Malfoy’s response was jaded, but she didn’t blame him. Putting work into a career that you think will affect change, only to be held up at every turn made the rose-coloured glasses foggy and scratched. Seeing the Ministry through adult eyes cast the institution in a different light. 

“The case that brought us here is pretty nasty; a victim of our fugitive was injured and hospitalized. Had to get his statement,” Harry said.

Shoes squeaking against the tile floor, Hermione came to an abrupt stop as her heart stuttered, fingers catching on Harry’s sleeve to halt him. “Was there a fight? Are you both all right?” Sure, neither of them looked injured, but Harry was very good at hiding when something was wrong. He knew how much she worried for him, and _she_ knew he tried to keep things from her as a result.

Strong fingers patted her own as Harry said, “Everyone’s fine, ‘Mione. We weren’t involved until afterwards.”

Relief settled over her like a warm blanket, and she felt a pang of guilt as she realised she’d completely glossed over the wellbeing of the wizard who _had_ been attacked. “I hope the victim is all right.”

“He’ll live. Just gives us even more reason to catch this fucker,” Draco said.

Harry shot him a scandalized look over Hermione’s head. “Now, now, Malfoy. Such language. Where are your debutant manners?”

“Fuck off, Potter.” Draco followed his words with a saucy wink. It was so quick she barely noticed, there and gone.

Through all of their sordid history, she never thought she’d see the day when Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter got along, but she’d been wrong.

After Ron had dropped out of Auror training, feeling compelled to step up and help George with the joke shop, Harry had gotten closer to another trainee—Malfoy. When they completed their training and began working for the Ministry, they’d been partnered up.

One night after an especially tough case, Harry had confessed that there were just some things that couldn’t help but bring people together—spending long hours chasing true evil and living on the brink of near-death was one of them.

Honestly, Hermione was grateful. With how busy she was with her career and volunteer work, she felt that she was sometimes a poor friend to Harry. She’d not always been able to be there for him right after the war when she had worried he would need her the most. It had turned out that Malfoy’s demons weren’t that far off from Harry’s. He’d done wrong, he’d been a vile bully and eventually a soldier for an evil being, but he’d also been a kid. A teenager, just like the rest of them, trying to protect his family and forced into growing up far too soon and facing the cruel realities of life and death.

Harry bumped her gently with his shoulder, pulling her back to the present. “It’s Friday,” he sang. “Come out with us, ‘Mione. It’s been forever. You could use some loosening up.”

Hermione gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you imply that I am uptight, Mister Potter. I’m the most easy-going person you know.”

Both men laughed at this—a little too hard if you asked her. It wasn’t _that_ funny.

“I’ll even buy you a drink. What do you say, Granger?” Malfoy said.

“Make it two and you’ve got a deal. But I have to stop off at the office first and then home to feed Crooks. I’ll meet you there. Eight o’clock sound all right?”

“It’s a date.” The smirk on Draco’s face gave Hermione reason to worry. One never knew what that smarmy, sneaky prat was up to.

The words, though said playfully, made her heart skip a beat.

_A date._

She’d deny it if anyone asked, but Hermione had been eyeing Harry and Draco for a while now. They were both quite fit, and she wasn’t blind.

“Go on then! Leave me be. I’ll see you gentleman later,” Hermione said with a robust eyebrow wiggle. Sharing a conspiratory look, the two Aurors chuckled darkly and watched her walk away. 

* * *

A disgruntled meow reached Hermione’s ears as she pushed open the door to her flat. 

She’d finished work a little later than usual, which inevitably meant Crookshanks’ dinner was delayed. It wasn’t as if he was starving—he’d gotten a bit plump in his middle age, and surely he could survive an hour without food.

Kicking off her heels and slipping out of her stockings, Hermione let out a groan of relief when her toes were freed from the confines of faux suede and pantyhose. Bending down and digging her thumb into her instep, she mumbled at her pouty Kneazle. “I know, my fussy little chunk. Just a minute, okay?”

The kibble was stashed on the top shelf of the overhead cabinets. With a stretch and small hop, she fumbled for the container. Unfortunately, her grip on the canister was loose, and it slipped through her fingers and fell to the ground, the plastic lid popping off and spilling kibble across the floor.

“Shite. No, Crooks! Wait.”

Her greedy, not-so-little Kneazle eagerly lapped up the spilt kibble at an alarming rate. 

Groaning, Hermione fell to her knees; she would have to put him back on a diet after this incident.

When she’d finally chased Crooks away from the spill and cleaned up, she collapsed onto her favourite overstuffed chair to read the paper.

The front page of the _Prophet_ heralded the grand reopening of Hogwarts. Just reading those words filled Hermione with a soft glow of happiness and pride. While the school remained open after the war, the renovations had taken years. At long last, they were ready to debut the new facility, more modern and equipped with improved safety precautions. 

Turning the page, Hermione chuckled when she saw the face of her best friend contorted into a fierce scowl. Poor Harry. The reporters tracked his every move like Muggle paparazzi, and she could hardly pass a newsstand without seeing his face splashed on its covers. 

He hated the fame. A few months ago, in an unfortunately timed burst of frustration and anger, Harry had grabbed one of the cameras flashing in his face and tore it apart— _with his bare hands._

It had been a glorious display of good old-fashioned violence, no magic necessary, and it kept the press away from him for a solid week. Much too soon, though, they were back to following him around like a flock of pixies.

A column to the right of the article about Harry caught Hermione’s eye, beautiful filigree framing the title that read, “Dear Lavender.”

She groaned. Lavender Brown had somehow landed her own column dedicated to anonymous advice. _Advice_. As if Lavender Brown were the type of person fit to be bestowing such a thing on others. People from all corners of Wizarding Britain owled in questions, and Lavender shared her sage wisdom with the poor sods.

This particular letter had been penned by _Snitchless in Surrey._

Hermione rolled her eyes at the moniker. She wouldn’t begrudge anyone their success, but she found these sections ridiculous and would never understand the appeal. As she gently turned to the next page, Crooks wandered over in a post-kibble coma, hopping on her lap for a cuddle. 

After a few minutes of idly running her fingers through his ginger fur and catching up on the news, a chiming drew Hermione’s attention to the Black Forest cuckoo clock hanging on her wall—a piece of her childhood home that her parents had gifted to her. _Oh, bollocks._ She’d better hurry and get ready or she’d be late.

She sent Crookshanks off with one last rub to his back. “Okay, Crooks. Off you go.”

Heading to her bedroom, Hermione pulled open the wardrobe and started tossing things behind her and onto the bed. Tonight she wanted to dress up, put a little effort in. 

Ignoring the annoying little voice prattling on in her head that was telling her exactly _why_ she wanted to go the extra mile with her appearance, Hermione took care in choosing her ensemble. True, she’d never been one to care much about frippery and beauty routines, and Harry—of all people—knew that. He’d seen her at her very worst: malnourished, dirty, scuffed-up. 

But tonight vibrated with promise, a fluttering excitement settling in Hermione’s stomach at the prospect it held.

She’d been denying the sexual tension between herself and the boys for weeks now—maybe longer. There was more at risk than mere awkward interactions. If she were reading things wrong or it turned out their chemistry just fizzled out, it could throw a spanner in her friendship with Harry—one of the most important things in her life. And her newfound companionship with Malfoy was odd enough on its own without throwing in extra layers. Harry helped to bridge the gap between Hermione and Draco somewhat, but they were still figuring out how to act around each other. Hermione was nothing if not cautious, calculating every possible outcome before making a decision. If at any point in the night, she was hit with a sense of wrongness, she’d pull back and just enjoy a night out with friends. Hoping for it to be more was something she could entertain in her own mind without having to put anything on the line.

Harry had been her first, and she had been his. On the run and hunting for Horcruxes, they were two scared, lonely teenagers seeking solace in each other. Again and again, they’d come together in the weeks when Ron was gone, settling into a routine of sorts, grasping onto any little semblance of a normal life they could. When Ron returned, Hermione’s world flipped upside down, and she was left to wade through a quagmire of conflicting feelings.

Part of her understood why he left; fear for his own family and numerous insecurities drove him, only made worse by the Horcrux. But the other part of her was still a heartbroken teenage girl, abandoned by the boy she cared about. The weeks that followed were tense and awkward.

It was Harry that had been there, and again, he'd proved he was the only person she could count on. There’d been rough patches along the way. They’d fought, of course they had, but the bond they’d forged out there on their own proved stronger than anything she had with others. 

Ron’s return put them in an awkward spot, and she’d been determined to keep Harry from ever feeling like he needed to choose between his friends. They were the “Golden Trio,” but Ron was his best mate, and she would never want to interfere with that, no matter her feelings for Harry. No matter the butterflies, the deep sense of rightness when he’d held her in his arms, or how safe she felt beside him.

And so, she let her feelings for Harry go dormant and sought her pleasure elsewhere. She’d been doing pretty well, casually dating here and there, having the occasional one-night stand, and completely resisting her attraction to Harry Potter.

Then Malfoy came into the mix. He was downright delicious and damn near irresistible. A no-feelings fling couldn’t hurt, right? They didn’t work together; there was no conflict of interest. Perhaps she could see where that could go.

But after seeing Harry and Malfoy together, spending time with them as friends and seeing how well they worked as a team, a plan formed in her mind. The thought of two wizards—touching her, kissing her, driving her crazy—at once made her pulse thump a little harder beneath her skin. Both of them were so different and imagining the visual contrast alone was enough to bring a flush to her skin.

As their friend group expanded and Malfoy found a place within it, Hermione spent more and more time with the two of them. At the occasional game nights held at various friends’ houses, she managed to always end up tucked between Harry and Malfoy in a long string of Hermione-orchestrated incidents. She’d brush her fingers over Harry’s knee, lean in to whisper some little joke rather seductively—she hoped—in Malfoy’s ear.

They _had_ to have been getting the hints; she really hadn’t been subtle. So when they’d invited her out, she’d decided tonight was the night. She’d lay her cards on the table and see how they reacted.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to put thoughts of their bare chests and delightfully thick forearms from her mind and finish dressing. If she didn’t, she’d end up needing a cold shower before she left.

_“Aha!”_

She finally found the jeans she wanted—the ones that made her arse positively _pop_ —piled in a heap at the bottom of the wardrobe. All that was left was to shimmy into a sparkly blouse and swipe on some lipstick.

Staring into the mirror, she fussed with her hair, fluffing and fiddling before deciding to sod the whole thing and let it be. She wouldn’t hide the parts of herself that made her who she was. They could have her warts and all. 

With a kiss blown in Crooks’ direction, she headed out the door and into the night.

* * *

On any given Friday night, Diagon Alley was teeming with people, and tonight was no exception. Hermione felt a thrum in her chest, energised by the exciting atmosphere. 

As she passed by Flourish and Blotts, a book in the window caught her eye. She stared longingly through the glass before glancing at her watch, deciding she had just enough time to take a quick peek.

The door chime tinkled gently behind her as she crossed the threshold. She paused a moment at the entrance, closing her eyes and breathing deeply; she would never tire of the smell of fresh parchment mixed with the musty scent of centuries-old tomes.

Heading for the far back corner of the shop, Hermione ran her fingers gently along the spines as she passed, searching for the one on display in the window. It was a new edition of _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ , and if memory served her correctly, it could be found in the stacks near the back. 

Though the Alley was bustling, the book shop was rather quiet, with most of the crowd spread out between the restaurants and pubs. Hermione found a spot on the floor in the Magical Histories section, tucked away and perfect for skimming the book she’d seen.

Skimming quickly turned to reading, and soon Hermione was lost to the magic of words with a book splayed in her lap and several more stacked on the floor beside her. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when scuffed black boots drawing near caught her eye. She traced her gaze over muscular thighs and trim hips, all the way up to a face with bright green eyes and messy hair.

 _Harry_.

“There you are. How did I know I’d find you here? We had a date, you know.” A pretty, lopsided grin spread over his face. 

“Oh, no! Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t know what got into me. I saw this book in the window,” she gestured to the thick tome propped on top of her crossed legs, “and I’d been having such a difficult time finding it anywhere, so I came in to buy it. But then I found more, and well, I’m sorry.”

Harry chuckled, extending a hand to help her up from the floor. “It’s all right, ‘Mione. We should have known this would happen. We’re the ones who foolishly picked a location that would bring you directly in front of the bookstore. Rookie mistake.” His dark lashes fluttered closed on a wink, and she had to stop herself from tittering like a schoolgirl. 

_Too charming for his own good_.

Hermione sent the books floating back from whence they came, snagging only the one she’d seen in the window. “I’ll be just a minute, I promise!” she said, speed-walking to the checkout. Harry laughed dryly and followed behind her.

Digging in her pocketbook for her money, Hermione froze as she felt the warmth of Harry’s body pressed against her back. Before she could pull it out, Harry had handed the teenage girl behind the till money for the book. “Harry, I’m perfectly capable of paying for it on my own.”

Harry brought his mouth close to her ear. “I’m aware. Let me do something nice for you.” When her jaw fell open, preparing to argue once more, he pressed even closer to her. “ _Please_?”

It was impossible to say no to Harry when he asked so sweetly. And really, she’d never been able to deny him anything. She sighed, resigned, and nodded her head.

When their transaction was finished, Hermione’s new book tucked safely in the depths of her bag, Harry led her out to the street with a gentle hand on her lower back, holding the door for her to pass through. 

“Where’s Draco?” she asked. 

“Inside holding our table. The Leaky is packed tonight.”

As they walked to the pub, a group of rowdy wizards laughing and shoving each other turned the corner in front of them. Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione’s hip, pressing her to his side to allow the men to pass without jostling her.

At the contact, Hermione felt a stirring in her belly. A lick of heat spurred on by Harry’s touch and presence. They stepped inside the dark and smokey pub—a rather sensual setting, in Hermione’s humble opinion, and perfect for her plans.

Harry led her to the far corner where Draco sat at a small, round table. He stood when they arrived, waiting for Harry to pull out Hermione’s chair and seat her before sitting down once again.

Such picture-perfect manners. She could only hope they weren’t nearly as polite in bed. 

Someone stopped by their table to drop off drinks—one of which was Hermione’s favourite.

“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you,” Draco said, smiling at her with those perfect cheekbones while pushing a glass of rum and Coke towards her.

“You can order whatever you like if you’re paying, Daddy Warbucks.”

Harry barked out a laugh at that as Malfoy lifted an eyebrow, confusion plain on his face. “What?”

Hermione smirked. “You’ve never seen Annie?”

He just blinked at her.

“Ah, right.” She slid her gaze to Harry and leaned forward as if she were sharing a secret. “He’s got that unfortunate pure-blood deficit thing. It’s a shame. You’re really missing out on musicals, Malfoy.”

His confused look made her chuckle as she took a sip of her drink, sitting back in her chair. “Are we going to get food? I’m really craving chips.”

“As long as you don’t dip them in mustard again, you monster.” Harry looked at her with a mock scowl on his face.

“Mustard is the condiment of the gods. You’re an uncultured swine.”

When Harry threw his head back and laughed, Hermione’s eyes followed the line of his throat, an image of her kissing her way up to his jaw filling her mind.

_Mmm._

“Granger?”

“Hmm?” She dragged her gaze away from Harry’s jawline to blink at Malfoy.

“Anyone home?”

“Hilarious. I got lost in thought. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.” Giving him a taste of his own medicine, Hermione smirked at him, pleased with herself. “Be a dear and grab us some chips, would you?”

“What am I, your bloody house-elf?”

She snorted rather indelicately. “As if. You’re not nearly well-behaved enough to be a house-elf.”

A cute dimple she’d never noticed showed up in Draco’s cheek when he laughed, volleying, “Swot,” at her before striding away.

“So, how are you doing with the Ginny thing?” She slid her gaze to Harry.

Plastering an exaggerated look of confusion on his face, Harry said, “Ginny thing?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Harry. Have you met her new witch yet? I figured you’d be all over that, what with their connection to professional Quidditch and your borderline obsessive passion for the sport.”

“I’m not obsessed.” A pointed look from her was all it took for him to break, shrugging his shoulders and saying, “Okay fine. I am obsessed, and yes, I’ve met her. She’s great. I’m happy for Gin.”

Hermione knew he meant that. It had taken time for him to get to that point of acceptance. Harry got back together with Ginny after the final battle, and Hermione had stepped back to give them time to work things out, allowing herself to focus on Ron. There’d been so many tangled feelings twisted between Ginny and Harry—and Hermione and Ron, for that matter—young love fizzling out and leaving them all to sort through the mess.

“How uncharacteristically mature of you, Harry Potter.”

“What can I say? I’m finally getting past years of repressed youth and learning to be a grown-up.” He knocked back the rest of his glass, not the barest hint of a grimace on his face as the liquor burned down his throat.

 _Oh my_.

Perhaps she was a little too far gone if she found the ease with which he drank whisky alluring and somehow delightfully masculine. _Focus, Hermione._

“And what about you, hmm? You go out of your way to meet Ron’s exes?”

Tucking her chin, Hermione chuckled to herself. “How could I when they change by the fortnight? It’s probably easier if I don’t, save myself the painfully insipid conversations and autographs the tarts would probably request.”

Their playful ribbing was interrupted when Malfoy returned, food and a few bottles of beer in hand. As Hermione reached for a chip, she had an idea.

“Up for a little game, boys?”

She knew neither would say no to a challenge and wasn’t surprised when Harry nodded and Draco gestured for her to go on.

“It’s simple, really. We take turns asking each other questions. When it’s your turn, you either answer the question— _honestly_ —or drink.”

Harry scoffed. “Easy. I have nothing to hide.”

 _That’s what I’m hoping for._

The smile that spread across her face felt a little shark-like, and she could only hope they picked up on what she was putting down.

“Great. Let’s begin. Go on, ask me anything,” Hermione said, leaning back in her chair.

They shared a look across the table; Malfoy spoke first.

“Have you ever cheated on a test? Even the smallest bit? Be honest, Miss Perfect.”

She gasped, affronted by the question. “I can’t believe you would think me capable of such a thing. I’m offended at the mere insinuation—”

“ _Hermione_.” Harry was looking at her with an amused expression, one eyebrow lifted in her general direction.

She blew out a sigh. “Okay, fine. Yes, I have, but only once! And I had good reason.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and saying, “Do tell.”

“It wasn’t on OWLs or NEWTs; I would never do it on those. But I _may_ have fudged a bit on one of my Divination exams. I shouldn’t have, and it was absolutely pointless anyway because I just dropped the class. In the end, I felt so awful that I told McGonagall what I’d done,” she said. “The detention I served assuaged my guilt.”

Draco shook his head, chuckling to himself. “You are the only person I know who would snitch on themselves.”

Hermione huffed and lifted her chin. “That’s because I know how to follow the rules.”

“Ah, but only when it suits your cause, right?” Harry cast a pointed look in her direction. “Because I seem to remember you bending the rules quite often as long as you could justify it in your head.” He shifted a bit, just enough to drape his arm over the back of her chair, thumb slipping beneath the short sleeve of her blouse to rub circles on her shoulder. 

Hermione was a bit taken aback by Harry’s astute observation. “Perhaps, but I never heard you complaining. I’d say you benefited from it considering all the times I had to bail your arse out of something.”

“Fair,” Harry said, tipping his glass towards her. “All I’m saying is that you aren’t the goodie-two-shoes everyone thinks you to be. It’s not a flaw. You just know how to play,” he paused, eyes darkening as he stared back at her, lips quirking, “ _dirty_.” 

In response, she lifted her bottle to her lips and drank, tongue flicking out as she pulled it away, eyes on Harry’s all the while. When his throat moved on a rough swallow, she cheered inwardly.

_One point for Granger._

They played a few more rounds, and though none of them backed down from any questions, they continued to drink, inhibitions lost with each sip.

“All right, my turn,” Hermione said, laughing as she set her glass down too roughly. “What’s one sexual fantasy you have that you haven’t tried yet but would like to?”

Draco whistled through his teeth. “You’re not playing around.”

“Answer the question or drink, sir.”

His tongue slipped out, wetting his lips as he met her gaze. “Teacher/student. I have a thing for pleated skirts.”

She pursed her lips, humming to herself. “Pretty tame, if you ask me.”

“We’re in public, sweetheart.” Draco leaned forward until he was in her space. “Take me home, and I’ll show you how tame I am when I have you coming around my cock and screaming my name into your pillow.”

Suddenly the game had been flipped—it wasn’t only Hermione trying to stoke desire there tonight. Heat raced up her neck. It seemed too good to be true. He was bluffing, she was sure, and she wondered what might happen if she called him on it.

As her lips parted, ready to push the issue, Harry broke the trance between them with a touch to her thigh, fingers trailing over her knee. “I believe it’s my turn to be questioned.”

It was a hardship tearing her gaze away from Malfoy’s, but Harry’s handsome face soothed it somewhat. 

“If you had to sleep with one person at this table, who would it be?” She steepled her fingers under her chin, leaning her elbows on the table as she waited for Harry to answer. 

Harry feigned being lost in thought then looked at Malfoy with heat in his eyes before bringing his gaze back to her. “Why limit myself to just one, hmm?” Malfoy smirked, and realization settled on Hermione that perhaps it wasn’t just her that came here with a plan.

The joke had been tossed around the Auror office that Harry and Malfoy were like an old married couple, but Hermione had assumed it was all in jest. Was there a nugget of truth to be had there, perhaps?

She scarcely had time to ponder the thought before Harry bought them another round. Soon after, Hermione started swaying to the music, chair squeaking with her slightly inebriated, slightly off-beat rhythm, so she dragged Harry and Malfoy to her favourite club in Muggle London.

The music was loud, bass sinking into her chest and distracting her from the terror of what she was about to propose. She pulled the boys with her to the dance floor, dancing to a frantic beat as they spun her in and out of their arms. 

After a while, the music switched, dropping into a low, sultry rhythm. Hermione moved between Harry and Draco, slow and smooth, revelling in their lingering touches. Harry grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back into his chest, the two of them swaying together to the beat. The song changed, and she stepped away, gaze flickering between them both. 

“Take me home.”

Both wizards started speaking at the same time. 

“‘Mione, I’m not sure that’s—” 

“Granger, we shouldn’t—”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If you two aren’t up for it, fine.”

As she stood waiting for their answer, the two men looked at each other, sharing some sort of silent conversation before turning back to Hermione. She could tell from their expressions that they had made their decision, and she placed a hand on both of their chests, lips quirked in a smile as she said, “Your place or mine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Come Together! This is my first longer multi-chaptered story, and I’m so excited to share it. This fic is a continuation of a one-shot written last October under the same name as this one; it is now retitled "Over Me." If a few things look familiar here, that's why. Thank you for reading! I’d love to know your thoughts, and I always welcome concrit.


	2. A taste of honey

The heavy pulse of bass and desire combining almost overshadowed Hermione's common sense. She reached for her wand and wrapped her fingers around Draco's wrist, intending to Apparate when a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. 

“Hermione. Not here.”

Embarrassment brought a flush to her cheeks. They were in a Muggle club; she couldn’t Apparate. With a hand on her lower back, Harry carefully manoeuvred them through the crush of sweaty bodies and out the door, ducking into the alley behind the club—a suitable spot for using magic away from Muggle eyes.

Alcohol had slowed all three of their reflexes, and Harry fumbled with his wand for a moment with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

While he dug around, Hermione and Draco stood to the side just behind Harry, face to face and so close Hermione could reach out and touch the soft, slightly mussed fair hair falling down over his eyes. So she did, fingers slipping through the silky length, breath catching when his face was suddenly inches from her own, warm exhales falling against her lips. Eyes closing, she leaned up on her toes, sighing in satisfaction as Draco's mouth pressed to hers.

Cinching her closer, he wrapped his arm around her back, pressing her body to his. It was all too much—the flush from the alcohol, the frenzied passion in Draco’s movements as he kissed her, the heat sparking in her belly as she clung to him.

“Aha!”

They broke apart, turning towards the noise. Harry stood there with a satisfied smile on his face, one hand proudly holding his wand aloft as if he'd completed some great feat.

It was adorable, reminding Hermione how fond she was of Tipsy Harry. He was always a little more affectionate, and dare she say, cuddly—after a glass or two.

“Shall we?” Harry lifted both arms, prompting Hermione and Draco to take his elbows on either side. 

The last thing on Hermione’s mind before the sickening pull of magical travel hit her was how delighted she was at the turn the night had taken.

Before she could blink, they'd reappeared in the sitting room of a swanky flat, probably downtown if the skyline outside the window was any indication.

Hermione had never been there before and didn’t recognize it, but if she had to guess, the abundance of gothic, gloomy decor just screamed Draco, broody prat that he was.

Her head started to spin, the world growing fuzzy around the edges of her vision. Blindly sticking out a hand to steady herself, she found herself suddenly clutched against a hard chest, strong arms keeping her upright. 

Eyes lifting, she stared up into Harry's face, raising up to pepper kisses over his chin. “Hello.”

His hand cradled her cheek, thumb brushing over her skin. It was tender yet inflamed her at the same time; she wanted to kiss his lips sweetly and simultaneously wrap her legs around his hips and grind on him.

The sound of a thump and a muttered, “Fuck,” pulled their attention back to Draco where he stood at the end of a long sofa, glaring down at his foot.

“This is your place, mate,” Harry said with a grin. “How’d you manage to stub your toe? Forgot that sofas exist?”

“Sod off.” The deflection was not as sharp as she was sure Draco had intended it to be, because as he said it, his eyes ran up and down Harry's frame, gaze darkening as it went.

She didn’t blame him—there was just something about Harry Potter. In every way a foil to Malfoy’s fair appearance, he was beautiful; dark and tall and delightfully muscled. A shiver ran through her as she thought about his brawny forearms. She had a thing for those forearms.

Then Draco was making his way over to the two of them, reaching around Hermione where she stood still in Harry’s arms, palming Harry’s jaw and bringing him in for a kiss. They moved with ease and familiarity, like their bodies were already well acquainted.

That was a new development. Hermione was only slightly surprised to find out that the ongoing joke of them bickering like an old married couple perhaps held more truth than she’d originally considered. She’d have to consider it again when she was less addled by liquor, but immediately a whole host of little moments paraded through her mind. A handful of minuscule things that seemed slightly off the trail from _just friends_. 

The lingering touches, the heated stares, the heavily entendre-laden conversations.

Honestly, she was a little disappointed in herself for not catching on sooner. She'd like to think she was clever in every area, but really, she wasn't great with subtle hints.

The heat of them on at her front and back made her pulse pound harder, faster. With Harry’s head angled back to kiss Malfoy, it left the tender skin just under his jaw exposed. She took advantage immediately, pressing her lips wherever she could reach, tongue darting out to taste the salt of his sweat on his skin.

It was unclear just exactly who it was that pulled a deep, rumbling groan out of Harry, but Hermione found she didn’t mind. Both of them at once overwhelming his senses was a heady feeling.

As Harry pulled away, eyes on Malfoy’s face like he wanted to eat him alive, the dizziness pulled at Hermione again, sudden nausea washing over her as she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to will away the vertigo.

Her knees gave out, no longer strong enough to hold her up. “Whoa.” A pair of arms scooped her up, and then she was moving, but she didn’t know where. When she’d been carefully placed on a sofa, she cracked her eyes open just a tad to see Harry looking down at her, concern etched into his features. 

“Draco.”

“Right. On it.”

The sound of footsteps slowly faded, bringing Hermione’s attention back to the wizard in front of her whose gentle fingers pushed back the hair sticking to her forehead. 

“You’ve had a bit too much to drink, sweetheart.”

“No, I haven't.” She tried very hard to properly enunciate, but the words still came out slurred. 

From the kitchen came a soft thud, and then Draco’s face swam into her vision next to Harry’s. He uncorked a vial, sliding a hand beneath her head to lift it enough that she could drink. When the glass touched her lips, she swallowed around a thick throat and dry mouth. Carefully repositioning her head on the cushions once more, Hermione let her eyes fall closed, a strange fuzzy sensation coming over her.

By the time she opened her eyes again a minute later, the dizziness had gone, and she could move her head without shooting pain. Looking around, she found herself in what she assumed was Draco’s bedroom, lying on a small sofa at the foot of a grand bed.

“What did you give me?” Being fed strange potions was not high on Hermione’s list of favourite activities, but she knew she could trust Harry with her life; he’d never let her come to harm. Malfoy was still an unknown entity, and the trust there was tenuous at best. She enjoyed his company, she really did, but it would take time for them to build on their foundation of companionship.

Harry spoke first. “I asked Draco to get you a potion to sober you up. Feeling better?” He cupped her cheek in his hand, thumb brushing tenderly back and forth over her skin. The two of them seemed far less affected by the imbibing they had done than Hermione. She didn’t drink often, though, and they were bigger than her, their systems likely able to handle more before they got sloppy drunk. She envied them that. Hermione never could quite hold her liquor. 

“Much. Thank you. Next time tell me what I’m about to drink before I drink it, yes?”

“Shite. You're right. Sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you this time since you’re standing there looking so scrumptious.”

Still a little warm and pleasantly gooey from the lingering effects of her drinks, Hermione stretched languidly on the sofa, the hem of her shirt riding up to expose a strip of her belly above the waistband of her jeans.

A little thrill and a sense of satisfaction hummed through her when both men’s gazes went straight to the exposed skin. Stretching further, she let the fabric ride even higher, pleased when it seemed to prompt them into action.

“Stand up.” Just a hint of a smirk touched Harry’s mouth.

His voice in her ears was like molasses, slow and sweet. He could ask her to do the chicken dance in that voice and she’d still be turned on.

Rising from the couch, Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a little unsure now that things were officially going down. Yes, this was her best prediction for how the night would go, but now that it was here, it seemed too good to be true, and the little nagging voice started in her head.

Harry stepped closer, fingers hooking in her belt loops to tug her to him, grounding her in the moment. Then he was kissing her, and his hands moved from her hips to her arse, using his grip to press her closer, moving in just the right way to grind the softness of her centre over the hardness of his.

The firm press of his mouth against hers set off a voracious hunger, starting in her belly and consuming every nerve as his hands slid up and under her blouse, calloused fingertips dragging over her skin. Catching the hem, Harry parted from her for a moment to pull her shirt off and over her head. He reached for her again, warm hands resting on her hips to turn her to face Draco.

One of Harry’s broad hands rested on her stomach, thumb brushing back and forth and driving her crazy. She stared at the ground trying to slow her breathing, but the effort was counteracted by Harry's touch when his other hand cupped her jaw, lifting her gaze up.

Draco was nearly bare-chested before them, sinewy muscles flexing as he pulled his undershirt over his head, trousers hanging off trim hips. Gods, he was pretty. Resplendent, even, according to Wednesday’s spotlight in her Word-A-Day calendar.

“Better close that mouth, Granger, before someone finds a use for it.”

She grinned even as a blush crawled up her chest, willing the bravado she’d felt at the club to come back to her as she smiled widely, hunger apparent and teeth bared in a way she hoped made her look more like a fierce lion than an angry kitten.

“Do you want that, Hermione? You want to make him feel good?” The question Harry whispered against her neck was an easy one. 

Oh yes, _she did._ Words were beyond her at that point, a nod the only response she could give as she stared at Draco, never breaking his gaze. Harry’s hands left her stomach, slipping behind her to undo the clasp of her bra and let it fall to the floor.

“Fuck.” Suddenly, Draco’s gaze no longer met her eyes, and a shiver trembled through her as she stood there letting him look. 

Eyes following his movements, Hermione watched as Draco undid the fly of his trousers, fingers pulling down the zip at an achingly slow pace. She reached up to bat his hands away and do it herself, but Harry caught her gently by the shoulders, speaking into her ear. “Wait.”

So she did, hands folded primly in front of her as she waited for what felt like five hundred years for Draco to undo his damn trousers. Harry’s hands on her never slowed, sliding up and down her neck and shoulders, gathering her curls to one side so he could trail his mouth over the bared skin. Her head fell back, a soft sigh leaving her lips at the touch.

The distraction was nice, and when she opened her eyes once more, Draco was before her, trousers and pants undone and pulled down just enough for him to free his cock. With gentle pressure on her shoulders, Harry guided her to kneel.

She stayed still for just a moment, taking in his body and committing it to memory. He was slimmer than Harry, a little less bulky, and taller, pale skin stretched over lean muscle. When he got close enough to touch, she slid her hands over the outside of his thighs, one landing on his hip and the other wrapping around his length, resting back on her heels as her fingers softly stroked him.

With measured movements, she explored him, relishing in his heavy breaths and the powerful effect she had over him even from her knees.

When she leaned forward, mouth just barely kissing his tip, the wizard behind her carefully wound the fingers of one hand in her hair, not so tightly it hurt, but just firm enough to control her movement.

It was strange, Harry’s hand in her hair guiding her as she used her mouth on another man. Odd but not unpleasant. When Draco grunted at the swipe of her tongue, it filled her with the same feeling as the filthy words falling from Harry’s lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Sweet little mouth so willing. Look what you're doing to him, Hermione.”

When she didn't respond, the fingers in her hair tightened just enough to sting her scalp and gain her attention.

“Look at him.”

Pulling back at Harry’s behest, Hermione looked up, gaze running quickly over the muscles in his abdomen all the way up to his face, contorted in nearly-there pleasure.

It was overwhelming, having such a strong attraction to two people at once. If just this—her on her knees in front of Draco while Harry told her what to do—was winding her up this much, she could only imagine how the rest would feel.

She wanted to taste him again, so she did, doing her best to push him higher, determined to make him come.

Right at that moment—when his muscles tensed and his breath caught—Harry pulled her back and off him. She couldn’t help the whine that escaped her as he did. Draco was more composed than she was, though he set his jaw tight as he reached down to adjust himself. When they both glared at Harry, he grinned and said, “Trust me. It'll be sweeter for the wait.”

When he’d kicked off his shoes and the last of his clothes, Draco’s hands urged her up, catching her by the waist and lifting her to wrap her legs around his hips as he walked to the bed. Peeking over his shoulder, Hermione saw Harry toeing off his boots and shucking off his trousers. 

When his knees met the mattress, Draco leaned forward, letting her fall back onto the bed before crawling up over her.

“Hi.”

They were nose to nose, and she could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. It filled her with unexpected happiness to know that he’d had reason to smile in the last few years. A little levity in the lives of those touched by the war had been long overdue.

Arms lifting to twine around his neck, Hermione smiled up at him. “Hi.”

His head dipped to kiss her, slow and languid, warming her from the inside out like the firewhisky she’d had earlier in the night. Breaking the circle of her arms, he trailed his mouth to her chin, moving down her neck and over her chest, leaving wet kisses along her skin. When he reached her belly, his nimble fingers undid the button on her jeans, pulling back and encouraging her to raise her hips so he could slide them down her legs along with her knickers. 

The bed shifted under Harry’s weight when he joined them on the mattress, moving to sit with his back against the headboard. When Draco freed her legs and tossed the jeans to the floor, Harry tucked his hands under Hermione’s arms, tugging her up to recline with her back to his chest.

As Draco made his slow ascent up her body, Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging his head up and saying, “Draco. _Move faster._ ” He chuckled at her impatience but did as she asked, fingers dancing up her thighs to part her folds, dipping into her centre before taking the moisture there and dragging it up, over the needy bundle of nerves begging for attention.

The world turned soft and hazy as Harry brought his hands to her breasts, kneading them in his hands, fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples. It was all too much at once, too good, and in minutes she was lost in the competent attention of their fingers and mouths against her, crying out as she hit her peak and melted against Harry, every muscle in her body relaxing.

Draco’s blond head lifted from between her legs, a smug smirk on his face as he swiped his thumb across his bottom lip. “Good?"

She feigned nonchalance. “Passable.” At his sharply arched brow, she sighed and said, “Your head is big enough already.”

By the time she’d spoken the last word, Draco was already shifting over her, one hand bracing himself on the bed near Harry’s hip, the other lining himself up with her entrance. “Just my head, mmm?”

Her laughter melted into a moan as he pushed into her, breath rushing out of her at the stretch. Her head fell back, lolling against Harry’s shoulder. Draco took advantage of the position, surging up to devour Harry’s mouth even as he continued to move his hips, starting to thrust in and out of Hermione at a steady pace.

When they broke apart, Harry lowered his mouth to her ear, voice a little gravelly as he spoke to her. “Look at you two. Fucking perfect.”

Following the rhythm Draco set, Hermione moved her hips in time with his, her hand slipping down over her stomach to rub over her clit. Draco groaned as the motion made her tighten around him, picking up speed and sliding in out and out of her a little less gracefully, just rough enough to make her pulse quicken under her skin.

Minutes passed, but it could have been hours for how poorly she was attuned to the passage of time. Harry’s grip on her tightened, hand sliding down to the dip in her waist and his exhales heaving faster against her neck as she felt him grind against her sweat-slicked back. Harry grunted, swearing under his breath as he came, and it pushed her over the edge.

“I— I’m—” Her sentence fell into unintelligible words as her pleasure crested, washing over her like a tidal wave. Hips stuttering, Draco followed, collapsing atop her.

They just laid there for a minute, letting their breaths even out, coming down from their mutual highs.

The serene moment was broken by Draco’s shaking shoulders as he laughed, shifting to lie on his back next to them and look up at Harry. “That quick, huh?”

“We’re going there? Okay. I’d like to see how long you’d last with Hermione rubbing up against you, making those sounds while _I_ fuck her.”

Lips curling into a grin, Draco said, “Point taken.”

After a few quickly-spoken spells, they all burrowed beneath the luxuriously soft sheets on the ridiculously large bed, everyone clean with nary a shower between them. She would never get over her wonder at the convenience of magic, no matter how long she’d been in the wizarding world. 

Warmth surrounding her on either side, Hermione fought sleep, mind cataloguing the night, trying to commit it to memory so she could analyze it later. A sense of contentment and safety like she’d never felt before washed over her, sinking into her bones. She wanted to remember it, to be able to pull the memory out later and feel it all again.

Through the endless nights she’d been alone in her bed, daydreaming about what could be if they all just let go, the fantasies were nothing when compared to the real thing.

Her yearning to never forget how she felt in that moment was the last thought floating through her mind just before she descended into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Mid-morning sunlight filtered in through a gap in the heavy black curtains shrouding the window, angling in just right to land on Hermione’s face and seep through her eyelids, bringing her awake.

Fumbling around in the dark for her wand, Hermione sat up, relieved when her fingers bumped the smooth surface, closing around the wood. With a whispered word, she forced the curtains apart to reveal her surroundings, wincing when the bright light sent pain shooting through her skull. 

To her right was an end table, a note written in neat script sitting upon its surface.

_Granger,_

_I trust you slept well between my thousand thread count sheets. A little luxury is nice sometimes, wouldn’t you say?_

She rolled her eyes. Even through a note, she could see the smug smirk on his face.

_Potter and I were called in. Midgeon is around if you need anything—and please don’t try something valiant like giving her your knickers to free her; she’s paid handsomely and always takes her breaks._

Besides the oversized shirt she was wearing, her knickers were the only piece of clothing she could see in the room. They dangled precariously from a knob on the dresser as if they'd been tossed aside in haste, and she huffed out a laugh at the notion she'd give them to a house-elf.

Still, Draco probably wasn’t wrong in anticipating she might do that. But she’d grown up a bit, and as she got older, she’d made a concerted effort to consider the personal wants and needs of whatever group she was deciding to take up for. In the past, she’d done what she thought was best, never considering that the beings she was trying to help might want something different.

Sliding out from beneath the decadent comforter, she summoned her knickers, tossing a cleaning charm at them before pulling them up her legs. It wouldn't do to wander around half-nude. 

As she walked to the kitchen, the delightfully large bookshelf along the far wall caught her eye. Taking a detour, she padded up to it, fingers running gently over the varied spines. Most were hardcovers, but there were a few paperbacks she recognized, like _Nineteen Eighty-Four._

It was a little surprising to see an abundance of Muggle literature in the home of Draco Malfoy.

Perhaps they had more in common than she’d thought. It might be nice to discuss things like books with someone. She loved Harry, truly, but he'd never been much for books and didn’t see the appeal. Pull out a book about Quidditch, though, and then it was a different story.

“Hello, missy.”

The squeaky voice somewhere behind her startled Hermione, and she dropped the book she’d been carefully sliding off the shelf. It landed with a thud. Throwing up her hand, she stopped the little elf from charging across the room to pick up the book for her.

“Thank you, but that's all right. I’ve got it.”

“Master said you'd say that.”

 _Ah._ She was well and truly transparent. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth as she thought about the conversation that might have happened there earlier, with Harry warning Draco of her stubborn quirks. Harry knew her better than anyone, and sometimes she wished he wasn’t quite as observant.

“Missy? Midgeon can help you. Bring you tea, biscuits?”

The earnest little creature seemed determined to offer assistance, and Hermione found it hard to deny help when she looked into those bright, buggy eyes.

"Tea would be lovely. Thank you very much, Midgeon." With an enthusiastic bob of her head, the elf disappeared to the kitchen, leaving Hermione to find the loo, performing a spell of her own creation to clean her teeth and freshen her breath before wandering into the kitchen to find a steaming mug of her favourite tea on the counter.

* * *

The Ministry was bustling as Hermione made her way through the halls on Monday morning, everyone rushing to their posts and lined up waiting for the lifts. She avoided the masses, taking the stairs instead. It took longer, but she couldn’t bring herself to willingly step into one of those horrible mechanical death traps that she’d avoided since she was a child. When she reached her floor, she pushed open her office with her shoulder and hurried inside.

Her chair squeaked as she sunk into it, protesting her weight as she grabbed the cardigan that hung over its back and draped it over her shoulders, peering at the stack of papers before her. She had a few loose ends to tie up from the weekend, and she was scribbling away at her desk for an hour or two when a knock sounded at the door.

She looked up to find a smiling Katie Bell in the doorway. “Tea break, Miss Workaholic?”

Looking at her watch, Hermione said, “I suppose I can spare a minute.”

Katie mock saluted. “Aye aye, captain. One minute and not a second longer.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

"I do. And I also know you’ve been hunched over your desk since you came in this morning. Everyone needs breaks, Hermione. I’ll teach you that even if I have to drag you forcibly from your office." With a rueful laugh, Hermione pushed back her chair and stood.

The little alcove tucked off the main corridor that held the tea station was empty, leaving the two witches to chat freely.

“How was your weekend? I missed you at brunch. I trust you had something terribly more important to do.”

“Oh, fine. It was nice,” Hermione said as she poured the tea into two mugs.

“Uh-uh. No, you don’t, missy. You’re hiding something. I want details.” Katie punctuated her words with an exaggerated wiggle of her brows.

“Okay fine. I had a date.”

“A date?” If she squawked any louder, she’d bring the building down on them.

“Merlin, Katie. Keep it down.” Hermione stuck her head out into the hallway to check for eavesdroppers. Spying none, she leaned back against the counter along the wall as Katie dressed their tea.

“A date. Dinner and dancing and—” She caught herself, lowering her voice before continuing. “Maybe a little more.”

Hand fluttering to her heart as she heaved in an exaggerated gasp, Katie said, “You dirty girl. You finally made your move on your hunky Aurors!”

“Oh hush,” she admonished, a smile fighting free through her stern expression. “I may have.”

“And it went well?”

Unable to keep the excitement out of her voice, Hermione nodded. “Oh yes. Swimmingly, one might even say.”

“Well, well, well. I told you, didn’t I? I believe your response was ‘Oh no, Katie. That will never happen.’” Crossing her arms, Katie lifted her chin with a smug look on her face.

“You were right. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Always.”

“Anyway, it was fun, but now it’s back to solitary evenings eating take-away with my cat and mediocre one-night stands.”

A crinkle appeared between Katie's brows. “And who made this rule?”

“No one, but it was obviously a one-time thing. Even if not, even if we do somehow have a repeat, it’s casual. Just blowing off steam.”

“Have you discussed it with them?”

“Of course not. It was barely two days ago.”

“Honey, those men are partners in all things, and if you think for a second that they would shy away from exploring things with you, then perhaps someone slipped something in your tea, because that’s mad, Hermione.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious! You’re well fit, sharp, somehow tender-hearted but also tough as a wizened war general. You’re a bloody catch, witch.”

With a laugh, Hermione picked up her mug and started the short walk back to her office, Katie by her side. “I don’t know. How do I even go about approaching such a topic?”

“Hey fellas, we’re dynamite together. Let’s shag some more.”

An indelicate snort was Hermione’s only response.

“Listen, Hermione. Most blokes respond to a straightforward approach. Bring it up. No, I mean it,” she hurried to say when Hermione tried to interrupt. “Just mention it and see what happens. Harry looks at you like you’re the sun, moon, and stars, and Draco isn’t far behind, I’m sure. The worst that can happen is that they say it was a one-time thing. You’ve already shagged, for goodness’ sake. A simple conversation shouldn’t be too hard. Buck up, buttercup.”

“Fine. I’ll consider bringing it up.”

“I’ll accept that answer _for now_. What’s that?” She pointed to just above Hermione’s desk where a little paper aeroplane hovered. Not an official Ministry memo, it was on grey paper with silver foiling. Katie’s expression turned lascivious as she said, “Maybe it’s a secret admirer sending you sexy notes.”

“Off you go,” Hermione said, shooing Katie out of her office and taking a seat, plucking the note out of the air with her fingers. She opened it, noticing with disappointment that it was _not_ a sexy letter. Instead, it was a missive from Draco, asking her to meet him for lunch. Now all she had to do was figure out how to casually bring up the subject of future threesomes. 

_No big deal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love to know your thoughts, and I always welcome concrit.


	3. I need a place to hide away

A solemn voice pulled Hermione from her sleep. Blinking through groggy eyes, she peered at the clock on her bedside table, big hand pointed at three o’clock. At the foot of her bed stood a brilliantly lit stag, Harry’s voice speaking to her from it.

“We’re on a call. It’s a bleak situation, Hermione. There’s a child, a little girl. She won’t speak. She’s hiding under a desk, and she won’t move. I don’t want— I don’t want to make things worse by yanking her out. Can you come?” 

She sprang to alertness, shoving her feet into her worn trainers and throwing a coat over her pyjamas.

Just as she left the bedroom, she stopped mid-step, glancing back at the bed.

Though the duvet partially hid it, the little yellow bunny she slept with every night—a remnant from her childhood she never could part with—peeked out at her from beneath the sheets. Hermione couldn’t explain why, but she felt like something was telling her to bring it, so she grabbed it, stuffing it in her purse. With wand in hand, she rushed out the front door, Apparating to a familiar place as close as she could manage to the address Harry had given her.

When she reappeared, the street signs proclaimed that she was five blocks from her destination. There was a foreign sensation in her chest, a heavy coil of something that startled her, knocking her breathless. The concern in its presence mirrored her own, matched it near perfectly, but it didn’t belong to her. 

She ran. 

Each slap of her trainers against the pavement carried her farther, her chest heaving with violent huffs of air as she raced to the crime scene.

She skidded to a stop in front of a weathered building. The area was seedy and unwelcoming; each establishment boasting dusty, cracked windows and dilapidated shingles. Imagining a child thriving there was difficult.

The flat Harry had directed her to was on the second floor. Hermione raced up the steps, coming to a halt in front of the proper door. Inside, several Aurors milled about, roping off the crime scene with sombre expressions. 

And _gods_ , was it a crime scene. 

Two bodies were hidden under thin sheets, splayed out on the floor of the tiny sitting room.

The wizard stationed at the door didn’t want to let her in, but she was saved when Draco came into view, speaking firmly to the man and taking Hermione’s elbow to lead her to Harry. Magic shimmered around her as she stepped over the threshold; disillusionment charms were in place to keep any prying Muggle eyes away.

Whoever the flat belonged to had been living in squalor. There were holes in the walls, the carpet was torn in several places, and everything was coated in a thick blanket of grime. 

As they walked down the short hallway, a glint of something metallic caught Hermione’s eye—needles. 

They stopped outside the only room. Draco rubbed his palm over his cheek, and she saw the exhaustion plain on his face. “The child’s father was a wizard—Barkely something. He discovered the lucrativeness of the Muggle drug trade. Been under investigation by the Ministry because we suspected that he had ties to the magical black market.” 

With a weary sigh, he continued.

“Anyway, when one of his customers didn’t pay up, he paid them a visit, showing up at the door of their flat in a Muggle neighbourhood. Stupid bloke… Came with his five-year-old daughter.”

“Merlin,” Hermione breathed, eyes fluttering closed at the thought. 

“A fight broke out. The Muggle had a gun, pulling the trigger at nearly the same time as Barkley cast the killing curse. They were both killed instantly.”

The idea of that poor little girl witnessing such a devastating act of violence sent a shudder through Hermione’s body. Draco must have felt the same; he spoke through a tight jaw, and his eyes darkened. Hermione lifted her hand, fingers reaching out as the need to comfort him took over for a moment, but she caught herself, tucking her hand into the pocket of her coat instead.

“We’re not sure if the girl saw her father die. If we’re lucky, she’d hidden out of the way before it happened.”

“Where is she?” 

“When the Auror team arrived, there was a burst of magic—strong—that knocked them all back a few steps.” 

The child’s magic had protected her, or tried to, and for that Hermione was grateful. 

“She’s been hiding in this dingy little room since. No one can get her out.” 

Draco led Hermione to the room where Harry was on his knees in front of an old roll-top desk. She dropped her purse by the door and walked to him. She lifted a hand to Harry’s shoulder, garnering his attention. When he looked up at her, his eyes were hard, pupils blown wide and edging out the fierce green hue they typically boasted. It was a mask required of him when things got tough. She knew his heart was breaking for whoever this child was, but he couldn’t show it. As she stood there, it was almost like she felt the very same thing in her own heart. 

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” A weak smile touched her lips as she gestured to the patch of floor beside him. “May I?” He nodded, shifting to the side closest to the door so Hermione could sink down in front of the desk.

Big, bright eyes shone out from the darkness when the child shifted, eyes catching the light.

Speaking softly, Hermione said, “Hello there.” She kept still. “My name is Hermione. This is my friend Harry.”

No movement, no sound.

She continued. “He keeps me safe. He’s a very good protector, and I’m glad he’s here with us tonight. I know he looks a little scary in those robes, but he’s a big softie.” Harry turned to her with a lopsided grin despite the grim look in his eyes.

The softest swish of fabric rubbing together issued from the shadows as the child shifted.

“What’s your name?”

There was no response. Hermione shrugged out of her coat with slow, measured movements, holding it out in offering. Long, fraught seconds passed until two tiny hands reached out, gripping the material of her jacket and pulling it towards her. 

The floorboards creaked under the slight weight of the little girl scooting forward just an inch or two.

Motioning for Harry to hand over her purse, Hermione dug around until her fingers caught in soft fluff.

With a quiet smile, she pulled the stuffed rabbit free and held it out. “I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is my friend, Patterson. I’ve had him since I was your age. When I was little, whenever I was scared, I would hold tight to him, and he always made me feel better. Would you like to hold him? He gives good hugs.”

Silence. This was no new phenomenon; there was always a gap to bridge when meeting with a traumatised child, and it never got easier. The bloom of a warm hand on her back calmed her, and her gaze drifted to her friend at her side, his lips quirked in a faint, encouraging smile. 

Just when she was about to pull back, a slight figure cloaked by the extra fabric of Hermione’s coat came into view, scooting out on her bum from under the desk.

In a puddle of light from one of the dingy sconces sat a tiny girl with matted hair and dirt-streaked skin. The dress she wore was far too big, the sleeve slipping off her shoulder.

“Would you like to share your name with me?” Hermione pressed, noting how she flinched at the simple question.

“Glory.” It was barely a squeak—but it was a name.

Hermione beamed. “It’s very nice to meet you, Glory. That’s a beautiful name.”

Glory wrapped her arms around Patterson, hugging him tighter still.

Hermione’s mind raced, chasing the next step. Anguish wracked her as she realized the system would inevitably fail the trembling girl in front of her again. 

For a moment, Hermione watched as Harry interacted with the little girl. There was something intrinsically good about him. He was gentle and kind, careful to avoid sudden movements so as not to startle her. In a low voice, he promised her he’d be right outside the room if she needed anything, and when he was done, the little girl hunkered down on a worn cushion in the corner, closing her eyes and resting her chin on the fluffy head of the stuffed rabbit.

Hermione’s heart reached out for him, an ache settling in his absence. 

The Ministry had a small group of volunteers willing to take in children who were in urgent or emergency situations. It wasn’t a perfect set-up, but the families were ones that Hermione trusted implicitly. 

Floo calls were made, clothes gathered, and goodbyes said. An hour and a half later, Hermione was back at the rundown apartment, having already gotten Glory situated at the emergency intake home. 

Despite the hour, she needed to stop at the Ministry. She’d have to enter case notes before she forgot them, lest she endure a wrist slap from her director over waiting a whole six hours. It was maddening how many hoops she had to jump through just to get a single child taken care of, but such was the way of an imperfect government.

Harry insisted on escorting her and Malfoy agreed to tag along, eager to take evidence back anyway. 

Blinking away the dregs of sleep in her vision, she opened her eyes to see Harry crouched beside her with one hand at her nape. He gently squeezed, thumb digging into the tight muscles of her neck and shoulders, and she moaned before she could catch herself. It felt so good, Harry touching her like that; safe and comforting like she’d already gone home and slid into her bed.

It was an odd thing, the way a person’s presence could calm the chaos. She reckoned the last time she’d felt it was when she was young, tucked inside the embrace of her mum or dad, breathing in the soft scent of the laundry soap her mother used—lavender—and thinking there was nothing that could hurt her as long as she stayed right there.

Gods, she missed them.

But with Harry, she felt it again. 

“We’re all packed up. Ready to go?” His touch lingered for a moment before sliding down and off her shoulder. He stood, holding his arm out to help her up. 

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, calling to her weary soul. She was just so tired. Not just her body—everything was drained from her, and it was a struggle just to raise her head and look at him. “You okay?” He cupped her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. 

The Ministry set a protocol to follow, but her own was even more important. When she showed up, she was in charge, she was in control; only when it was all over and the job was done did she allow the tidal wave of emotions she’d been holding off to wash over her. 

“Harry… That poor child.”

“I know,” he crooned, coming close. “I know. Come here.” Suddenly, she was pressed against Harry’s chest with his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Her eyes stung as she tried to keep the tears from falling, fingers tangled in the fabric of his robes.

When she pulled away, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, Harry was staring at her intently, as if she were fragile. It hardened her resolve to keep her chin from trembling. She was Hermione Granger; she didn’t break.

Still, it felt good to be held—to be held by Harry. The idea of having a relationship with him—one deeper than friendship—drew her in and terrified her at the same time. She pushed the thought out for now, tucking it away for another time when she could think clearly.

Stepping out of the circle of Harry’s arms, she looked up. Just behind Harry stood Draco, hair dishevelled and falling over his forehead like he’d shoved it back roughly over the course of the night. His skin was tight around the eyes, mouth pressed in a firm line. His eyes, though, they were something to behold. It was as if he’d shuttered them, any emotion or vulnerability locked away behind steel doors.

He was like Harry, hiding those sides of himself even from her. When it overflowed, and it always did, she could see the wear that it had on him. Harry escaped however he could, often spending long hours running, pounding out the pain coursing through him through his trainers on the pavement. Sometimes, the fallout of his breakdown wasn’t as healthy and Hermione would stop by his home and find the mirror broken, droplets of blood decorating the sink.

Harry always worked it out, in time. In his own way. 

She wondered what Draco’s way was. Did he bottle it up only to explode later? Had he shut himself off from emotion for so long that he no longer felt anything even if he wanted to? As she stared back at him, seeing that empty look in his eyes made her want to hug him, to press kisses on his face, over his cheeks and up to his eyelids, until he showed something, _anything_ to prove that his heart was still there, that he hadn’t cut himself off so completely that he couldn’t come back from it. 

But right now, what she needed to do was paperwork. She tucked her hair behind her ears, tugged her coat tighter around her, and straightened her back as she said, “Shall we?”

With a stomach-turning twist, they were just outside the Ministry, going in through the toilets. The building was abandoned, no one about but a lone custodial worker, who nodded at them as they passed. 

When the two wizards led her to the nearest lift, she stopped, trainers squeaking on the marble floor.

The lift wasn’t necessary. There were stairs, though numerous and practically never-ending. 

She was just so tired and hauling her arse up and down a million flights of stairs seemed impossible. 

She gave in and took the lift. Just this once. 

As she stood in the corner, her nails dug little half-moons into the skin of her palm as she tried to stay calm and not spiral into the arms of fear. Lifts were perfectly safe most of the time. She’d read the statistics. She knew the odds. _Everything is fine_. Still, her heart sped up its rhythm until she could hear it in her ears, and each breath tugged the band of fear tighter around her chest.

A _clang_ sounded from above them and the fingers of her right hand flew to her left wrist, circling it and clutching tightly. “What was—” 

The words had barely left Hermione’s lips when the horrible screeching of metal on metal rent the air and everything halted.

 _No no no_.

Hermione had yet to open her eyes. If she couldn’t see anything, then it wasn’t actually happening.

It didn’t help.

Her breathing stuttered, pushing violently past her lips in quick huffs. Visions of being stuck in the bowels of the Ministry forever splintered behind her lids, followed by flashes of the miserable tin box impossibly flooding, ushering them to a watery grave. 

“Hermione?” The voice broke through her hazy panic. “Come here, sweetheart.” She cracked open one eyelid just enough that she could see Harry in the corner opposite to her, his arm held out towards her. 

She carefully crossed the lift, afraid that if her footfalls were too strong, she might cause the entire thing to break free of its bindings and plummet through the centre of the earth. It was only a handful of steps, but it felt like a hundred to bridge the gap between her and Harry. Finally, she was in his arms, forehead pressed against his chest and hands clutching at the back of his robes.

“Shh... It’s all right, Hermione. I’ve got you.” His soothing words combined with the soft circles he was rubbing into her back helped to soothe her panic, and soon she could breathe again.

She focused on things to ground herself: the smell of his robes, cedar and pine, everything so quintessentially Harry.

_Like home._

“She all right?”

The sudden addition of another voice startled Hermione, and she pulled back from Harry to find the source of the noise.

She’d been so caught in the tunnel vision of impending panic that she had forgotten Draco was there. She must have looked a fright, nearly brought to tears by something as insignificant as a jammed lift.

Harry held firm when she tried to step away to straighten her clothes and swipe at her eyes, a hand on the back of her head stroking her hair. “Just stay here a minute, yeah?”

The weight of Draco’s stare was heavy on her back, and she opened her mouth to speak but was spared the responsibility of having to explain by Harry. 

“She got stuck in a lift when she was a kid. Bit of a traumatizing experience. She’s not much a fan.”

With a sniffle, she angled her head toward Draco, her cheek resting against Harry’s sternum. When she opened her eyes again, Draco was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. The last time she’d seen him had been for lunch the other day, where she disappointingly did _not_ broach the topic of future threesomes. 

“You must think me an idiot, crying over something like this.”

Draco clucked his tongue. “Pish posh, Granger. Everyone’s afraid of something. It’s just the way of the world. In fact, Potter here should tell you about the time we were on a case in Scotland and I got chased by a horde of angry sheep. Can’t look at a wool sock without a shiver, now.”

His silly story brought a genuine laugh out of her, and she was thankful for the levity.

Keeping one arm still wrapped around Hermione, Harry slipped his wand out of its holster and sent a message to maintenance via his Patronus.

“There. They’ll get us out of here in no time. For now, we might as well get comfortable.”

Harry slid down the wall, sitting down and pulling Hermione between his spread knees, her back resting against his chest. Draco sat beside them, expression cast in shadows by the dim lamps.The lights flickered, burning out and washing them in pitch-black darkness. Every muscle in her body tensed, and she was fighting a shake threatening to take over. It was humiliating, really, a war heroine brought to her knees by a stupid fucking lift.

But then Harry’s arm around her waist tightened, pressing her back tightly to his chest. He spoke nonsense into her ear, a lot of _Shhh_ and _I’ve got you_. His free hand came up to push her hair out of her eyes, smoothing it back with slow strokes, again and again. The repetition was comforting, and soon she felt herself starting to relax, just a little.

When she opened her eyes again, Draco was just in front of her, back against the wall to her right as he held the lit tip of his wand aloft. With his free hand, he patted at her legs, and she couldn’t figure out what he wanted until he spoke. 

“Lift them. Your legs.” Sceptically, she did, staring at him when he arranged them over his lap. Setting his wand to the side, still lit, he tugged on her shoe. She tried to pull her leg out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t budge. “What are you doing? My feet are dirty and probably smell and—”

With a final yank, the shoe slid off her foot, falling from Draco’s hand to _thunk_ to the floor. His fingers wrapped gently but firmly around her ankle, holding it in place as he tugged the other shoe off. Closing his hands around her feet, he swore under his breath. “Merlin, Hermione. Your toes are fucking freezing.”

“I gave my socks to Glory.”

She’d spoken so softly he must not have heard her because he glanced at her before looking back down, rubbing his palms back and forth to bring warmth back into her toes. “Who?”

“I gave my socks to the little girl. Tonight. She needed them more.”

“Oh.” There was something meaningful in his eyes as he looked up at her through his lashes.

With wand pointed at her feet, Draco moved it in a complicated pattern and spoke an incantation she wasn’t familiar with. When he finished speaking, warmth melted into her skin like she was standing in front of a fireplace. It swept over her feet and up her legs, warming her from the inside out.

“ _Oh_. That feels heavenly. How did you do that?”

“What?” 

“The spell. I don’t recognize it.”

With a shrug, he said, “Just something I picked up.”

“Will you teach me?”

“The spell?”

“I believe that’s what we’re discussing, yes,” she said with a small, playful smile.

A charm like that would be helpful in her line of work; she was found without socks more often than the average person. 

“Of course that’s what you want to know.” A rueful smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I’ll teach you.” When she just stared at him, he said. “Fucking Circe, okay. _I promise_.”

Satisfied, she settled back against Harry, hands resting on his own where they were wrapped around her.

With her feet warm now, she thought Draco would stop touching her and leave her be. Instead, he cradled one foot in the palm of his hand, thumb digging into her instep with the other hand. 

_Mmm._

It was heavenly, the pressure on her arch, releasing muscles she didn’t even know were tight.

She scrutinized Draco as he worked, still a bit baffled by his actions and trying to wrap her mind around the fact the _Draco Malfoy_ was massaging her feet. He was good, too, easing the stress in her muscles and distracting her from her fear of being trapped.

“I think you may have chosen the wrong career path.” 

With a glance up, he smirked at her. “What can I say? I’m good with my hands.”

 _Oh my_.

A warm blush suffused her skin as he looked at her with heat in his eyes, hands still working over her feet. She tore her gaze away, trying and failing to keep from recalling other, more enticing options for his hands she’d witnessed firsthand.

He laughed, not taking his attention away from her feet.

Harry’s chest expanded on a deep breath as he shifted her in his arms, sweeping the hair away from her neck so he could bring his mouth to her ear. “Doing okay?”

With a pat to his hands, she nodded. “Bit better, yeah.”

“What was that quote from the film we watched last week? With, uh, angry racing? Something about living in the moment, taking it in small doses.”

His words brought a smile to her face.

On those days that Harry fell apart and his fists shattered glass, there weren’t words sufficient for such a moment, so Hermione just quietly fixed his mirror instead, clearing away the blood and shards. Then she invited him over, and they got take away and watched an action movie, something to pull him in and keep his brain from wallowing in the painful things. Crookshanks would snuggle next to Hermione on the couch, and eventually, Harry would stretch his arm out, bury his fingers in Crooks’ fur and stroke down his side. The cat would slowly inch closer to Harry with every scratch until the orange furball was sitting in his lap. The look of contentment on Harry’s face when she surreptitiously peeked over at him each time warmed her heart and made her want to slip Crooks some extra kibble for his help.

Harry had been having one of those days last week, so Hermione popped out to Blockbuster and picked up a cheesy action movie she’d seen a few years ago at the cinema that she’d suspected Harry would enjoy.

“I live my life a quarter-mile at a time.”

“That’s it. Like now, yeah? One moment at a time.” The arm he had wrapped around Hermione’s middle tightened, gently squeezing as he pressed his lips to the exposed skin just below her ear. Her eyes drifted shut, and she leant back against Harry, soaking up his warmth.

A _thud_ reverberated around them, and she tensed, expecting the worst. Harry ran his hand up her arm and whispered into her ear. “Everything is all right. They’re just getting us out.”

The old wizard they’d seen in the lobby had come to rescue them, and in just a handful of minutes, the three of them were free from the confining deathtrap.

By the time they’d climbed the stairs, even the boys—in far better shape than she—were huffing and puffing. If only Apparation was permitted in the bloody building, then they’d have been able to skip this whole mess.

Hermione’s office was on the same floor as the Auror Department. Shouldering the door open, she collapsed in her desk chair, head lolling back for a moment as she just sat there, limbs splayed out like limp noodles. Gathering every ounce of strength she had left, Hermione picked up her favourite quill and set to work, filling out paperwork and making a record of the night’s events.

As she worked, another little girl crossed her mind. Hermione was due for her weekly visit with Elenor soon, and she made a mental note to reach out to some of her contacts ahead of time and find out if they’d heard from or seen the father recently. He’d been dodging any communication she tried to send.

Now wasn’t the time to worry about such things, though. Glory was her priority tonight. Despite her fatigue, she got caught up on her work, only looking up when knuckles rapped on the doorframe. Draco stood there, looking as weary as she felt.

“Harry said you’d do this.”

With wide eyes and an innocent expression, she asked, “Do what?”

Mouth twisting into a tired smirk, he rolled his eyes. “Come on, you. Work as much as you want tomorrow. Right now, you need rest. Let us take you home.”

Hermione wasn’t unused to having someone care about the minute details of her wellbeing, but it had been ages, not since she’d been very young. For so long she’d been taking care of everyone else while neglecting herself, and her heart squeezed at the notion that not one but possibly two people _cared_ for her, wanted to _take_ care of her. Pushing her chair back from the desk, she stood. “Fine. I’ll concede just this once.”

“Just this once, hmm?” The smug look on his face prompted her to bump him with her hip as she passed him. She really couldn’t argue the implication that she might be gleefully willing to concede when it came to him and Harry, so she chose silence instead, sticking her tongue out at the prat. Draco’s dark chuckle followed her into the hallway.

When they stumbled out of the Floo, Hermione turned to face the two men in her sitting room. She was knackered—they all were—and she decided then that they needn’t go home. And she could thank them for their efforts to keep her calm in a scary situation by offering her flat. 

“You can stay.” Two pairs of eyes looked at her suddenly. “If you want.” Her heart thumped a little faster, and she worried she’d overstepped as they stood there scrutinizing her, relieved when they finally shared a glance with each other and nodded. 

“There’s a shower in the spare bathroom if you’d like to clean up.” At that, she disappeared into her bedroom, stripping off her clothes and going straight to the shower.

When she’d finished and thrown on pyjamas, she scooped up her filthy clothes and threw them in the hamper, putting the laundry off until later. Poking her head out the door into the hallway, her eyes caught on Harry and Draco as they came out of her spare room, hair damp and a few water droplets still sparkling on their skin; she wondered if they’d showered together. Images of the three of them together filled her head, hazy pictures of her hands tenderly running a bar of soap over Harry’s back, or her fingers rinsing shampoo from Draco’s hair, rising on her tiptoes and tugging him down so she could reach his head.

When they reached her room, she swung the door open wide and ushered them forward. Pulling back the covers, the three of them piled in, falling asleep nearly as soon as their heads hit the pillows, arms and legs tangled together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love to know your thoughts, and I always welcome concrit.


	4. Look at all the lonely people

The late morning sun hid behind the clouds when Hermione finally woke later in the day. The cold dreariness of the day had seeped through the walls, and the air in her bedroom was freezing when she thrust her arm up out of the blankets to check her watch. 

Beneath the blankets, though, it was cosy. The heat from the bodies on either side of her warmed her skin, comforting and safe. She shifted to better see the wizard on her left. Laying on his stomach, he had one arm thrown across Hermione’s middle and the other shoved beneath his pillow, blond hair mussed and falling over his eyes.

His expression softened in sleep, losing the hard edges it usually had. He looked almost sweet, though she’d never tell him that. She wasn’t sure his ego could take it, to be honest. But seeing him like this, all the strain gone from his face, made her heart happy. 

If things had been different, would she have seen this side of him when they were children? Relaxed and with an expression that wasn’t twisted into a sneer?

He had a piece of fluff from her fuzzy throw blanket stuck to his chin. When she reached out to brush it off, he turned into the touch, nuzzling against her palm, still asleep. It was just like Crookshanks when he napped, and the comparison brought a smile to her face. 

“Hey.” Spoken in a gravelly voice, the word rumbled against her as Harry pressed himself to her back. Turning in his arms to see his face, Hermione smiled up at him. “Good morning.”

He looked through dark lashes at her, face lit with that crooked grin of his, the one that simultaneously made her smile and get a little hot under the collar. Wiggling closer, she brought the backs of her knuckles up to stroke along his jaw.

“How is it possible for one person’s hair to be that messy?” She said it in jest because, in reality, she loved his hair. Thick, dark, and a little curly, and when he let it get long enough that it flopped over his eyes, it was adorable.

Harry snorted. “You’re one to talk.” He punctuated his words with a tug at the end of one of her curls, and she huffed playfully and batted his hand away. 

“There’s a difference between fashionably windswept and just plain messy,” she said.

His chest shook against her shoulder. “ _Fashionably windswept_? What a load of shi—” Trying to keep from full-on laughing and shaking Draco out of a deep sleep, Hermione pressed her fingers to his lips. 

“Manners, Harry.” There was a mischievous glint in his eye before he opened his mouth just enough for her fingertips to slip in, nibbling with his teeth. The mischief in his gaze turned sensual as he closed his mouth around her fingers and sucked.

_Oh, dear Morgana._

With a sharp tug, she finally extricated her fingers from the warm suction of his mouth, shaking her head at him. “You tease.”

Fingers looping around her wrist, Harry caught her arm, pulling her closer until she could feel the soft puffs of his breath on her forehead. “Oh, darling, I fully intend to back that up.”

Electricity sparked through her, a pleasant shiver running down her spine at the look in his eyes.

“Not now,” she whispered, peppering his chin with little kisses before pulling away. Just as she did, her stomach rumbled— _loudly_ —bringing a slight blush to her cheeks. Harry chuckled, one last squeeze of her wrist before he let go and sat up. “Can I convince you to go grab coffee from Bisset?”

With a cheeky smile, he slid from the bed. “Only ‘cause you look so pretty lying there.” 

He bent over at the waist to grab his trousers from the floor, giving her a perfect view of his boxer-covered tush. When she quietly wolf-whistled at him, he smirked at her over his shoulder, putting a little extra wiggle in his hips. “All right, show’s over.” He tugged his shirt over his head, winking at her before swaggering out of the room.

Watching his retreating back, she remembered another thing. “With cream!” She clapped her hand over her mouth, realising too late that she’d woken Draco up with her shouting when he shifted beside her, turning onto his back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“Ah. No harm done. I needed to wake up at some point.”

“Did you sleep well?”

A little crease appeared between his brows as he considered her question. “Yeah. Best in months, actually.” The implications of that—that some combination of she and Harry made him feel safe and comfortable enough to truly sleep—was more than her brain could handle this morning. Pinning it for later on the corkboard in her mind, she reached out tentatively to rest her hand on his chest, freezing in place when he flinched. It was barely noticeable, but it was there, and it broke her heart. 

Draco and Hermione were still feeling each other out, still figuring out where they stood now in this new universe where they were friends—more than friends. But this wasn’t the first time he’d flinched at the first hint of touch. She was an affectionate person, and she had to remind herself consistently that it was different with him, and that hopefully at some point, he’d grow more accustomed to the touch of her hand.

With Harry, affection was often and plenty, even more so now that they were exploring whatever it was between them. She suspected Harry’s need to bestow and receive affection stemmed from a childhood of neglect—no hugs, no kisses for scraped knees or gentle hands wiping away bloody noses, no comfort when he was scared.

For Draco, it seemed as if physical touch had only ever meant hard, hurtful things for him. As if someone had taught him to flinch at the first sign of movement in some learned sense of self-preservation. The one time he’d talked about his family was last New Year’s Eve, when they’d all gotten pissed and were slumped out on the sofa. They’d been talking about family, Harry telling some ridiculous story about the Dursleys that she knew was his way of working it out, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear the horrid treatment he’d suffered. 

Draco had mumbled something about his mum, a story from when he was young, about Narcissa going above and beyond to procure the item at the top of his Christmas wishlist for him, the one thing he wanted.

It was a sweet story, but the lack of any mention of his father had stuck out to Hermione. She’d had to put the pieces together slowly, each new thing she learned about Draco part of the puzzle. He hadn’t said it, and she would never ask, but she suspected his father’s icy disposition had been more than just a public persona.

Hermione had been lost in her thoughts, pulled back to the present by a finger poking her hip.

“I—”

Just as he spoke, the _click clack_ of claws on hardwood flooring came from under the bed, preceding a tubby ball of fur jumping up on the bed. Crooks curled up against Hermione’s side, one buggy eye glaring in warning at the intruder who had dared to enter his domain.

“Your cat hates me.”

Scoffing, she said, “That’s silly. No, he—” Before she could finish her sentence, Crooks began to hiss at Draco, hackles standing up.

“Okay, perhaps he’s not your biggest fan. But he’ll warm up eventually. Right, Crooksie?” Crooks got in one last growl at Draco before being distracted by Hermione giving him a good scratch beneath his chin. She scooped the feline up, groaning lightly at his heft before shuffling forward and setting him down in the narrow hallway, following His Royal Highness into the kitchen to fetch his food.

Crouching to put his dish on the floor, Hermione rose just in time to see Draco saunter into the tiny kitchen.

“Tea?” he asked her like a child with wide eyes and a pouty lower lip, and she laughed at his expression. 

“Harry’s getting coffee, but I suppose you’re not a coffee person?”

He wrinkled his nose. “That swill? No.” 

With a laugh, she turned to fill the kettle, setting her wand on the counter. “Fine. I’ll make you some tea. Sit.”

Grabbing one of her kitchen chairs in his hand, he spun it around, sitting astride it and leaning his forearms on its back to watch her.

There was something incredibly domestic about the whole thing; Draco there in her kitchen, seeing her regular morning routine, watching her prepare tea the Muggle way, of all things. It gave her a fuzzy feeling in her chest—happy, light.

When the kettle whistled, she poured it out into her favourite mug that boldly proclaimed, “I do what I want,” accompanied by a caricature of a cat making a rude gesture.

When he caught sight of the design, he barked out a laugh. “Classy, Granger.”

“Just honest,” she said with a wink. “How do you take your tea?”

“Two sugars, please.”

Spooning out two cubes from her sugar dish, she carefully dropped them into his mug. “That’s awfully sweet, Draco. Better make sure that doesn’t get out; it might affect your aloof and brooding reputation.”

Chuckling, he took the mug. A smirk tilted the corner of her mouth, and she spun around towards the counter to gather the necessary supplies for breakfast. Cooking wasn’t exactly her forte, but she could do the basics. Setting the pan to heat, she cracked two eggs into a silver bowl, slowly mixing in the dry ingredients and adding a drop of vanilla for flavour.

The feet of the chair scratched across the floor as he pushed it back to the table, and she felt his warmth on her back when he came to a stop just over her shoulder.

“What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

One long finger dipped into the batter and stole a dollop. 

“Hey!” She tapped his hand with the spatula. “Stay out of my batter.”

When she turned to glance at him, he looked like the picture of innocence, standing with his hand clasped behind his back to hide the evidence.

“You have some on your lip, you goof.” Her thumb swiped over his bottom lip as she cleaned the spot from his face. 

Catching her wrist as she tried to turn back to the stove, he said, “Whatever that is, it’s good. I want some.”

Laughing, she reached for a measuring cup. “All right, but you have to help make them.”

“I can do that. Where do I start?” The excited gleam in his eyes over something as mundane as making breakfast brought a smile to Hermione’s face. Handing him the measuring cup, she said, “Scoop up some batter and then gently pour it into the middle of the pan.” 

Nodding vigorously, he did as she bid. “Now what?”

Hermione huffed out a laugh. “Now you have patience. When it’s ready, flip it to the other side using this.” She held out the spatula, and he took it with eager hands. 

Confident that he understood, she grabbed a cutting board and started slicing up fruit. She loved pancakes with a side of fresh strawberries. The rhythmic _thunk_ of the knife on wood filled the small kitchen, and Hermione focused on slicing and dicing.

A minute or two passed before Draco interrupted her chopping. “Uh… Granger? Is it supposed to smoke?”

Whirling towards the stove, she pushed in front of him to grasp the handle of the pan, dumping the scorched pancake into the sink and turning on the tap. She reached for her wand, flicking it to open the window and banish the smoke away. Turning back to Draco, she had to stifle a giggle at his panicked, wide-eyed expression.

“Trying to burn down the building, are you?”

“I—”

“I’m just teasing,” she said with a soft smile. “No harm done. I like my pancakes on the crispy side, anyway.” She waved her hand. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Draco’s second attempt went much smoother, and soon they had a plate stacked with perfectly cooked pancakes and a bowl of fresh-cut fruit. With the food settled on the table to be kept warm by a stasis charm until Harry got back, Hermione spread out a tea towel over the open space on the counter and filled the sink, stacking the dirty dishes to the side.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, _Scourgify_ those?”

“I could. But I like doing the dishes the old-fashioned way sometimes. It’s relaxing.”

“Can I—can I help?” His uncertainty was cute, but it felt meaningful to Hermione, like they’d reached a better place than they’d started in all those years ago.

With a soft smile, she handed him another towel. “You can dry if you’d like.”

And so it went, the two of them bantering back and forth over Hermione’s dirty dishes.

When they neared the end, standing in companionable silence with just a few glasses left that Draco was drying until they shone, he dipped his fingers in the soapy water and flicked them at her. She squeaked in indignation before snapping her tea towel at him, catching his hip. They dissolved into giggles there in her kitchen—true, gods honest giggles—and Hermione’s heart felt lighter than it had in days.

The quiet that followed their happy little outburst was interrupted by Draco speaking just above a whisper.

"Do you… I don't know how to do this." He turned to face her, gesturing between them and vaguely towards the door. "I've had flings, but I've never felt this desire to _be_ with someone before. And now it's not just one person in the mix, but two. How do we do this? What are the rules? What if I fuck it all up?"

His apprehension was understandable. She, too, felt a little out of her depth as they tried to navigate the foreign landscape that came with an atypical relationship.

Setting the soapy rag in the sink, she turned to Draco with a soft smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "There are none. I think we just… figure out as we go. The three of us. Together."

The atmosphere changed, the playfulness in the air melting into something softer, slower.

They stood there blinking at each other as the invisible cord between them pulled taut, inexorably drawing them together until they were so close Hermione could count each sooty eyelash framing the dark grey eyes piercing her with their gaze.

She watched as his hands, still dripping with soapy water, slowly rose to cup her face. Her eyelashes fluttered shut when he leaned down, lips brushing over hers, soft as butterfly wings at first, kissing her cupid’s bow and each corner of her mouth. 

It was beautiful, perfect. It felt like warm sunshine on her face, but she wanted more, needed more, so she pushed up on her toes, hands winding around the back of Draco’s neck as she stepped into him, pressing so close she could feel his heartbeat against her own chest.

As she deepened the kiss, he groaned into her mouth, one hand leaving her face and sliding down her side to cinch her tighter to him.

The front door opened, and Crookshanks made a beeline for the intruder, slinking away when it disappointingly turned out to be Harry and not a bad guy. Hermione wasn’t sure what Crooks thought he would do if there ever _were_ a bad guy. Sit his pleasantly plump self on their foot until it tingled and fell asleep? 

Draco pulled back from Hermione a bit sharply, relaxing a tad when he saw Harry’s calm and amused expression. A smirk tipped the corner of Harry’s mouth as he took in the scene before him, setting two to-go cups of coffee on the table.

“Having fun without me, hmm? That’s not very nice of you.”

Dropping the towel on the counter, Hermione threw a little extra sway in her hips as she sauntered toward him, stopping just inches from him and walking her fingers up his chest.

“We can make it up to you.” She batted her eyelashes at him, trying for sexy and hoping it didn’t just look like she had something in her eye. It must have worked because his hands settled on her hips, pulling her even closer, mouth hovering over her own. Her eyes slid shut in anticipation of a kiss, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, “After breakfast.”

She pouted at him, yelping when his palm lightly smacked her arse. Heading to the counter, Harry stopped where Draco stood, one hand coming up to grip the back of his head as he kissed him on the mouth.

“Excuse me!” Hands on her hips, Hermione continued, “You’ll give him a kiss but not me? Not fair.”

When he finally turned back to her—pulling away from Draco at a snail’s pace, she noticed with irritation—he grinned at her. “Life isn’t fair, ‘Mione. Come sit down. Let’s eat.”

And they did, the three of them gathered around her tiny kitchen table, slurping coffee and tea and eating pancakes with their fingers. It was odd, seeing the two of them there, but in a way that made Hermione feel content.

_Happy._

* * *

At work the following week, Hermione had not a moment’s peace. One of her cases had been flagged by some twit, probably one of the pure-blood families irritated by the simple rules she was trying to implement. 

The magical society of Britain was overdue for a change. They’d had the same laws—essentially none—in place for hundreds of years. There was a very basic system in place for children without families, and as of yet, the policies didn’t extend to abused and neglected children. Unless it was staring them straight in the face, the Ministry largely ignored it. 

The main component of Hermione’s proposal was to start a system of guidelines and protocol that put rules in place to support educators, healers, and others in keeping the children they saw in their work safe. The first step was mandatory reporting. If a teacher or healer suspected that a child was being abused, they could officially submit their concern. Hermione’s department—that she hoped to expand as part of the protocol—would receive the red flag and mark a note in the child’s folder to check on them and keep an eye on the parents.

In general, the wizarding world was so backwards that parents were largely allowed to treat their children however they liked, without government interference. The amount of injured and even murdered children was staggering; Hermione couldn’t believe how often the Ministry had turned a blind eye, couldn’t believe how many young witches and wizards got no justice because the Ministry decided to protect the abuser instead of the victim.

With a _crack_ , Hermione arrived at St. Mungo’s for her weekly check-in with Elenor Walton. When she reached the curtain shrouding the child’s bed from view, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to radiate her irritation and have the poor girl pick up on it.

“Knock knock,” Hermione said quietly, pushing aside the curtain when she heard a tiny voice say, “Come in.”

Slumped against a propped-up pillow, the little witch looked miserable. “Hi, Elenor, How are you feeling?” 

Thin shoulders shrugged, rustling the material of her hospital gown. “Okay.”

She seemed weaker than the last time Hermione had visited, and the ever-present pep was missing from her voice.

Uneasiness settled in Hermione’s chest. “Has anyone been to visit you?” 

Elenor glanced away, thumbnail picking at a loose thread on the blanket across her lap as she shook her head.

Setting her bag down, Hermione pulled a chair to the side of the bed, settling into it and folding her hands in her lap. 

“Elenor, it's okay to tell me if something is wrong. You won’t get in trouble, I promise.”

Blue eyes dulled of their usual sparkle bounced around the room and Hermione’s mind slid into singular focus. 

“Hey, where’s Rooly?” The stuffed Hippogriff was never far from Elenor’s side.

“Dad took him. Said plushies are for babies.”

“Your dad was here?” Heat crept up Hermione’s neck as anger sparked in her veins. The hospital staff had been given explicit instructions to allow no one other than the grandmother to visit Elenor and to alert Hermione if anyone else tried. 

“When was the last time a medi-witch checked on you, Elle?”

Another shrug. “I dunno. Yesterday.”

Given that Hermione’s division was part of the DMLE, she had some authority regarding the safety of the children in her care, and the warpath she was about to go on would be backed up by the head of the department. Ignoring her request _and_ neglecting a patient was unacceptable.

Hermione reached for Elenor’s hand, squeezing gently. “Okay, honey. I’m going to go find a healer, and I’m going to make sure they do their very best to get you feeling better, all right?”

A weak nod was her only response. As Hermione stood and made her way past the curtain into the hall, Elenor’s tiny voice reached her ears. “Miss ‘Mione.”

Schooling her features into a comforting mask, she turned back. “What’s that, Elle?”

“Do you—do you think you could find Rooly? He must be lonely wherever he is.”

Heart twisting in her chest, Hermione smiled softly and nodded before striding down the hall in search of the healer in charge of the children’s ward.

* * *

Fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione sat at her desk, leaning on her elbows and willing the thudding between her eyes to cease. 

She’d been at the hospital for far longer than she’d allotted in her schedule, and her workload had piled up fast. 

“Hermione.”

With her gaze intently focused on the pile of paperwork on the desk before her, the voice speaking from the doorway startled her. _Harry._

He looked… not angry exactly. Concerned, perhaps?

“You skipped lunch, didn’t you?” 

“It’s been a day, Harry.”

Quietly, he shut the door, steady steps bringing him across the short distance around her desk. He set a small package on the tabletop, and then he was standing before her, sliding her chair back so he could prop himself on the edge of her desk. He took her hand, softly stroking over her knuckles with his thumb.

“Okay. Tell me about it.”

Eyes closing, she heaved out a sigh. “It’s—It’s like no matter how loud I speak, shout even, no one’s listening. And I know it’s still worth it; it’s important even if I help one solitary person. It is. I’m just… tired.” 

He hummed in sympathy.

Hands on her cheeks brought her eyes back open, and she blinked up at Harry as he brushed the hair from her face, a tender expression on his face.

“You don’t have to go it alone, you know. You can be incredibly fucking strong _and_ still let someone else shoulder the burden every once in a while.”

He sunk his fingers into her hair, cradling her head as his thumbs rubbed circles into her temples, relieving the pressure there. Hermione leaned into him, reaching out to rest a hand over his heart. 

Accepting a sandwich and a little comfort. She could do that. 

“Okay.” It came out as a whisper, but she meant it. She would try at the very least. 

With a final, firm press against her temples, he brushed his lips over her forehead and pulled back, grabbing up the sandwich and holding it out to her with a pleased smile like it was a prize she’d won.

“How did you know that I was hurting? That I hadn’t eaten?”

“I don’t know. You floated through my mind, and I had time left in my break.”

Hermione paused, teeth digging into her lower lip as she processed his words. 

Something was out of place. What Harry had just said combined with the strange moments when a sense of _something_ unfamiliar flowed through her served to throw up a red flag in her brain. 

“‘Mione?”

She blinked, gaze refocusing on Harry’s face. “Hmm? What did you say?”

“You zoned out.”

“I was just thinking about what you said. The other night when you asked me to come to help with that little girl, just before I started running I had this feeling in my chest. You and that child were the only things in my mind. It felt like—like a broken heart and no illusions to the contrary. It was as if I was feeling what you were feeling standing there with that little girl. It was odd, you know?”

Harry was staring at her, eyes wide and brow furrowed, looking rather confused. “Okay… What does that mean, exactly?”

Grabbing her quill and snagging a fresh piece of parchment from her drawer, she dropped the sandwich on the desktop and scribbled down a note before answering him.

_Connected magic? Sensing emotion._

“I don’t know yet. But I’m—” 

“Not going to stop until you find out?” He smirked at her.

“Yes.”

“See, I didn’t even have to sense that. I just knew those words were the next ones out of your mouth.”

She propped her fists on her hips, affronted.

Hands flying up to ward her off, he said, “You’re tenacious. It’s a good thing. Though I have to be careful what I say around you sometimes because you might decide to sink your teeth into something and never let go.”

“Lucky for you.”

They stood there for a moment, just watching each other before Hermione sighed and smiled softly. “Thank you. For the sandwich. I appreciate you thinking of me.”

“I’m not trying to boss you around, ‘Mione. I value my bollocks too much for that.” She snorted out a laugh. “I just… I don’t want to see you wear yourself out.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

He shook his head.

“Well, here.” She picked up the sandwich, unwrapping the brown butcher paper and pulling the two halves apart, handing one to Harry. “Eat with me.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say no, maybe try to convince her she needed the whole thing. But the stubborn expression on his face lasted only a few seconds before he nodded at her with a smile and took the proffered food, moving around her desk to plunk himself into the extra seat.

She sunk back into her desk chair and took a bite of the sandwich. 

“Oh.”

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment. 

Harry did a valiant job of keeping his smugness off his face at the reveal that he had been right after all.

It was nice, being here with him. Rays of early afternoon light shone through her window, warming her back and lending the little office a comforting air.

As they sat there eating and talking around bites of lettuce and turkey, something like pride swelled in Hermione’s chest, but it didn’t belong to her. This time it didn’t take her by surprise; it had to be Draco. 

It was a good feeling, and it made her smile to know that he was proud of himself in that moment.

* * *

After the day that never ended, Hermione left work late. When she arrived at home, the sight of her front door sent a chill down her spine. 

Shadows from the dark flat within spilt out into the hallway through a crack in the door.

Hermione was sure she had shut it and locked it when she left that morning. 

Quietly slipping her wand out of her coat pocket, she stepped forwards, foot lightly pushing in the door as she entered her flat and wand hand raised steadily in front of her.

“ _Homenum Revelio_.” It was barely a whisper, but it worked, the spell checking for intruders and coming up blank. 

Breathing deeply, holding it for a moment before releasing, Hermione tried to stay calm and think logically. No one was there, or if they were, they far surpassed her skills in magic if they were somehow able to go undetected beneath a revealing charm.

A sleepy mewl came from her bedroom, and she swiftly walked forward, carefully moving around the corner with her wand still at the ready. She flipped on the light, illuminating the small room. There on the patchwork quilt lay her cat, blinking up at her groggily.

“Crooks?” He meowed again, movement sluggish as he looked around the room like he didn’t know where he was, which was strange considering how much he loved lying on her bed.

He’d been drugged. Someone had drugged her cat.

 _Maybe he ate something toxic_. The logical part of her brain warred with the anger building in her chest. He did sometimes sneak out onto the fire escape to lay in the sun, nibbling at anything in sight, curious kitty that he was. 

_Three in, six out_

_Three in, six out_

_Three in, six out_

Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth steadied her, and she found the presence of mind to cast a diagnostic spell. They’d been together for so many years, and as Crookshanks had aged, Hermione had started to worry that something could go wrong and she wouldn’t know, so she’d learned a handful of simple spells related to animal care and safety. It was nice to be able to do most things on her own, and not have to take him who knows where to see a specialist.

A purple glow surrounded her cat, the spell she’d cast proclaiming that though something was in his system, it wasn’t deadly.

Breath rushing out of her, she scooped Crooks up, wand falling to the floor as she sunk onto the bed with her cat in her arms. She must have been squeezing him too hard because her attentions earned her a nip at the fingers clutched in his fur. “Sorry, baby.” Loosening her grip, she buried her face in his fur, breathing in the scent of sunshine and kibble that seemed to surround him at all times. 

So he hadn’t been fed poison, at least not anything she was able to detect. He must have munched on something that made him woozy. “Silly kitty. What did you eat?” As she scratched behind his ears, she caught sight of her desk, noticing her pen jar upended and its contents spilt across the wooden surface. “Crooks! You knocked over my pens. You know I just reorganized my desk, you little rascal.”

When she looked to the window, she laughed. It was barely ajar, but she had opened it last night before falling asleep for the breeze. She’d left it open, clearly, and despite the narrowness of the opening, her chunky cat had found a way to squeeze through to get to the fire escape.

Relief rushed through her, opening up her chest so she could breathe easy again. She knew she’d need to keep an eye on Crookshanks for the next day or so, just in case whatever it was he’d ingested caused further problems.

There was still the matter of the door, though. The longer she thought about it, the less sure she was that she’d locked it. Careful and cautious as she always tried to be, she _had_ been running a little late today. Perhaps she’d forgotten to lock it, pulled the door closed on her way and assumed it shut. The hinges _were_ a little sticky sometimes.

That must be it, surely.

It seemed the only logical explanation.

With one last rub of Crooks’ belly, Hermione grabbed her wand up and walked to the door, erecting extra warding to ease her paranoid mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I’d love to know your thoughts, and I welcome concrit. <3


	5. Don't come around

As Hermione prepared to leave work, grabbing her cloak and pushing a few papers around in an attempt to make her desk look less like nuclear war had erupted between the quills and the paperclips, a pair of shadows darkened her door.

"Come on, you.” The smooth voice pulled her attention to the doorway, where her two annoyingly handsome wizards stood, looking far better than they ought to after a sixteen-hour day. She'd worked a normal day, and she was certain her hair was reaching swamp hag levels.

"What are you here for?” she volleyed, arching one eyebrow as she stared them down.

"We're taking you out." Draco swaggered up to her desk and placed his palm flat on the surface. Harry hung back, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, casual as can be. "You, me, Potter—” He moved in close like he was sharing a secret “—and all the spaghetti you can eat."

A smile tugged at her lips as she stared at him. There was a place she’d mentioned in passing not too far from her flat, a little family-run Italian place that her parents used to take her to on special occasions, like the first time she landed the lead in a play before Hogwarts or later when she’d gotten the results from her OWLs. “Baudeli’s?” she queried, waiting for one of them to confirm her suspicion. 

Draco smirked, jerking his chin over his shoulder. "Grab your bag, Granger. Let's go."

* * *

Dinner was delicious. Hermione felt pleasantly sated and happy as they tossed their napkins on their empty plates and sat back with full bellies. The three of them seemed to have settled into a place where they were comfortable with each other, and she cherished the time she had with just the two of them. 

After dinner, they took the long way home, strolling and basking in easy conversation. Autumn was closing in, and the trees were just starting to show off their finest colours. A gust of chilled wind ruffled her curls as they walked past a flickering streetlight, Harry’s laughter at whatever Draco had said ringing through the air and warming her heart. 

Hermione walked between them, one hand in Harry’s and the other tentatively fluttering to Draco’s elbow from time to time as she chatted. Comfort existed between her and Harry that wasn’t there yet with Draco; they were still learning each other. She wasn’t even sure if he even _liked_ public affection, and his guarded exterior kept her from ever truly knowing if she was on the right track. 

As they neared her street, she took a chance and cautiously reached out to loop her arm through Draco’s, holding her breath as she waited for him to flinch. When he didn’t shy away, instead merely glancing at her and continuing on like normal, she cheered internally. 

The light by the door of her building cast the three of them in a dim glow as they begrudgingly came to a stop.

Biting back a smile, she turned to her dates. It’d been so long since she’d been wined and dined, _romanced,_ like this. It was nice. 

“Tonight was lovely. Thank you.” She turned to Draco first, sliding her hand behind his head to pull him down to her. When their lips met, something leapt to life in her chest; it was one of those foot-popping, butterfly-inducing kisses that she never wanted to end.

Too soon, he pulled back, his hands cupping her face as he pressed one last kiss to her nose. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

_Hermione._

It was new—him calling her by anything other than her surname, and there was something special about the feeling she got when he did. 

Hands falling to her waist, Draco turned her to face Harry. She didn’t have to initiate this time; he wrapped an arm around her lower back and pulled her flush against him, kissing her with so much abandon that a moan slipped from her lips and into his, and she barely kept herself from jumping him right there in front of her building.

He pulled back with a broad grin on his face. "G'night, 'Mione."

With the world going soft along the edges and her knees struggling to resist turning to jelly, she waved goodbye and ascended the steps, disappearing inside.

* * *

Monday afternoon came too quickly. Hermione was sequestered in the research library hidden in the bowels of the Ministry. She’d tucked herself in a corner with a heaping pile of books stacked on the tabletop like walls around her. 

Once she’d begun gathering books that looked promising, she got sucked in, devouring as much as possible. 

There was so little information about the phenomenon of bonding magic in more than two people. In couplings, it often involved rituals to seal the bond, the knowing entry of two magical beings into a lasting commitment. In the case of life debts, a much different type of bonding magic, a bond formed on its own through the power exchange necessary to instigate a life debt between two people.

The curling end of a lengthy piece of parchment reached down past Hermione’s legs, trailing onto the floor behind her as she scribbled notes.

“Hermione?”

Startled, her elbow slammed into one of the stacks of books, sending them crashing to the ground. “Bollocks,” she muttered, slipping out of the chair to kneel in front of the mess. 

The soft slap of flat shoes on wood sounded from around the corner, preceding the witch that emerged from behind the closest bookshelf. “There you are.”

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching on Katie Bell for a brief second, before trying to stack the books in her arms.

 _“Pssst._ Hermione?” 

Annoyance raced through her veins at the books having been mistreated so and the intrusion, and she shot a hard, _“What?”_ over her shoulder. Immediately, she realised she may have said it with more force than she intended to because her friend held her hands up as if to placate Hermione before pulling her wand from her pocket and pointing it at the mess still on the floor.

“You do know you’re a witch, right?” With a whispered incantation and a cheeky grin from Katie, the books in Hermione’s hands and those still on the floor floated back up to the table, arranging themselves in a neat stack.

Flustered, she stammered, “Of course. I just… I was focused. That’s all.”

Averting her eyes helped alleviate the hot blush that had suffused her cheeks at someone other than Harry witnessing her silly habit of reverting to the simple way of doing things when she was stressed. It’s not that she forgot to use magic; she just defaulted to Muggle things under duress.

When Hermione looked up, Katie's brows were drawn tightly together, one slightly raised, and concern laced her tone. “Have you… seen daylight at all today?”

Hastily tucking rogue curls behind her ears, Hermione stood, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “Of course.” Pausing, Hermione’s nose wrinkled, caught in her own lie.“Well, maybe it was dark when I came in this morning. I can’t remember, and it doesn’t matter, so if you’ll just let me get back to my reading—”

“Oh no. Uh-uh. I can’t in good conscience allow you to fully transform into a mole with no contact with the outside world.” Her chin ticked to the side, a smirk playing on her lips as she crossed her arms and stared pointedly at Hermione.

“For Merlin’s sake. I’m a fully-grown witch, Katie. I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.”

With a swing to her hips, Katie walked over and sat rather heavily on the wooden chair across from Hermione. “No buts. I have ten minutes until I need to be back upstairs. Now, interact with me like a person who hasn’t been hiding in the dark for hours. Humans typically start with something like ‘How are you?’”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes like a recalcitrant teenager, Hermione carefully rolled up her notes, setting them on the table. “Fine. But only for a minute or two. I need to get back to this.”

“What are you looking for?” 

“Anything about bonded magic,” Hermione said from the corner of her mouth, thumbing through the book on the top of her stack. “There’s been some… _odd_ things happening. Feelings that aren't my own. I know it’s crazy, but I’m starting to think I can _feel_ other people’s emotions.”

Katie propped her elbows on the table, leaning forward with interest. “Everyone? That must be overwhelming. Can you block it out at all?”

“Right, well, not _everyone_. A few particular someones, actually.” Hermione sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from grinning.

“Your Auror hotties?”

A laugh bubbled out of Hermione at her friend’s words. The thought brought a lightness to her chest, and she wondered if Draco and Harry, wherever they were, could feel it too. “Yes, them.”

A smile slid across Katie’s face, her eyes alight with mischief. “ _I knew it!_ When did it start?”

Another hot blush rushed to Hermione’s face as she fixed her gaze to the towering bookshelf just beyond Katie’s left shoulder. “Uh, well… You know, I’m not entirely sure and—” 

“Liar.” One finger wagged in Hermione’s face. “There’s something juicy here. Spill.”

"Well, I think it started—I think it started when we—” her voice dropped to a whisper, and she glanced around to be sure the coast was clear _“_ — _had sex.”_

She’d expected Katie’s jaw to go slack and her eyes to bug out of her head. Instead, she simply nodded. 

“Isn’t that a little odd to you? We didn’t _do_ anything to make it happen. It was passive; I did feel a warm glow, but I attributed that to… to satisfaction.” With supreme effort, she managed to say the words without turning the exact shade of a cherry tomato. 

“I mean, yeah. It’s not common, but it happens. Magic is a wild and independent force.”

Tapping her finger on the table, Hermione pondered her friend’s words. “Right. It _allows_ us to harness it, but there is always that sense that it’s playing with us, letting us feel like we have the power.”

“Exactly. With something so unpredictable, is anything _really_ a surprise?”

“I suppose not.”

Humming, Katie nodded to the stack of books. “Have you found anything here?”

“Not yet. I was planning to ask Draco. He still has control of his family’s manor house; surely there’s something interesting hiding in its library.”

“Good shout.” Katie slouched back in her chair and crossed her legs, one foot bouncing away. “Did you see today’s _Daily Prophet_? I assume not, since you’ve been deep in the catacombs all day."

Hermione chuckled, glancing up from where she’d been tracing patterns along a hardcover’s spine. “You know I avoid that rubbish as often as I can.” 

“Right, right, but this a doozy. Some poor sod’s dirty laundry all splashed across the front page. Affairs, secret bastard child. High power bloke in the trade business. Definitely going to take a hit.”

Hermione sighed, considering. “I’m sure he wasn’t blameless, but still. The _Prophet_ has become little more than a gossip rag.”

“Lucky we’re uninteresting peasants, hmm?” Casting a quick _Tempus_ charm, Katie stood, sliding her chair back to its spot. “Sod it all. I’m already late.” With hurried steps, she scurried off, tossing, “Don’t wait five more hours to take a break, young lady!” over her shoulder.

Hermione grinned and shook her head, focusing once more on her research.

* * *

With a _crack_ , Hermione arrived at the Apparition point near her flat after finishing at the Ministry, twilight swiftly descending. Once on her street, she passed an older man sitting on a bench trying to feed the birds. Although he never seemed to get many curious birds, he was persistent, there every day, rain or shine.

Throwing a wave and a smile at the man as she passed him, Hermione hurried up the steps of her building, stopping in the lobby to pick up her mail. Absently, she flipped through the bills and adverts, stopping only when she heard a familiar ding. The lift seemed to glare at her from its spot in the wall, its shiny metal maw open to allow passage to the poor folks who dared to enter.

 _No, thank you._

She barely suppressed a shudder as she passed the horrible contraption, heading straight for the stairs. When she reached her floor, she shouldered open the stairwell door and walked the twelve steps to the right to her flat. Hand on the knob, she pushed open the door, but her heel caught on something slippery and she nearly fell, catching herself against the wall. At her feet lay a yellow envelope, the kind used to transport documents and keep them flat. 

Bending down, she lifted the envelope, letting her purse fall to the floor as she shut the door and crossed her small kitchen. Propping her hip against the counter, Hermione inspected the envelope. It had no return address, and that coupled with the fact that it had been deposited under her door instead of sent to the post box sent prickles dancing up the back of her neck.

Quickly reaching for her wand, she held it tightly in one hand, using the other to open the flap and slide out the contents of the envelope.

It was too dark to see clearly, and with a whispered, “ _Lumos_ ,” light filled the kitchen. Her gaze landed on the items on her counter, and she startled, a horrified gasp escaping her as she dropped her wand, momentarily plunging the room back into shadows. Part of her didn’t want to retrieve her wand. Part of her wanted to believe if she couldn’t see anything, then it wasn’t there.

But it was, she knew that, and when she lifted her wand once more, there was no avoiding it any longer. Before Hermione were dozens of pictures of her, moving and alive like a visual history of the last month of her life.

There were snapshots of her laughing at something Harry said as he walked her home, a shot of her sleeping, Draco kissing her on the forehead one night as he left her flat, a few of her coming in and out of St Mungo’s, and one directly through the window in her sitting room, capturing a domestic scene of her reading a book with Crooks curled on her lap.

Using the tips of her fingers, she pushed at one of the photos, sliding it to the side and revealing a hastily scratched note beneath it.

_WATCH YOURSELF_

Her blood ran cold, teeth chattering and shivers wracking her body as one thought swirled around her head. _Get away. Not safe._

Finally breaking out of paralyzed fear, she threw on a jacket, gripping her wand tightly as she rushed to the laundry basket to grab a change of clothes, stuffing them into her bag, then snagging the almost empty can of kibble from the counter. “Crooks? Come here. We need to go.” 

_Silence._

“Crooks?” Her heart skipped for a split second when all she heard was silence, but then the soft thump of feet and claws tapping the floor came from the hallway, and her cat emerged, looking peeved. Relief rushed through her as he _meowed_ in annoyance. She must have woken him from a nap.

“Sorry, buddy. You can sleep later.” Rattling the can of his food above him did the trick, and he pranced close enough for her to scoop him into her arms. 

Things had been quiet since the end of the war. The wizarding world had slowly rebuilt, settling down and falling into normalcy. She didn’t have to be ready to defend herself at any moment; no cult-like force wanted people like her dead. Things were safe. She didn’t jerk at every sudden noise anymore. She’d settled, healed. And then strange things began to happen that she could easily write off at first, like the door being ajar when she came home and Crooks acting woozy.

But the pictures and the threat inherent in them brought all that fear and worry rushing back, forcing her into a singular focus: taking what she and Crooks absolutely needed and then getting the hell out.

Shoving the kibble into the bag and slinging it over her shoulder, Hermione hurried to the hearth, using the hand not holding a wiggling creature to scoop a bit of Floo powder from the jar she kept on the mantle, stepping into the fireplace and shouting her destination.

They arrived at Grimmauld Place, sooty but otherwise intact. “Harry.” His name fell from her lips on a broken breath, a modicum of relief washing over her when he called out to her. He was here. They were safe. 

For now.

“‘Mione?” The muffled voice calmed her further, grounding her in the moment. When Harry appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, his relaxed posture changed to alertness in the space of a moment, and he strode over to where she stood still clutching Crookshanks.

He lifted his hands, settling them on her shoulders. “Take a breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

As she recounted the incident from today, quickly mumbling the other things that she hadn’t told him about in the hopes that he would just nod.

A muscle in his jaw jumped as his eyes ran over her face, searching for something. “Someone’s been threatening you, and you didn’t tell me?”

Sighing deeply, she said, “I thought maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, making me see menace when everything was actually perfectly mundane.” 

For a moment it looked as if he wanted to say something more, worry hiding in his pretty green eyes, but then he took her bag and led her to the couch. 

Leaning forward to plant a kiss on her forehead, Harry said, “Well, you’re here now. It’s going to be okay.” He said it with so much sincerity it was difficult to do anything other than believe he was right. 

Holding Crooks snugly on her lap, hands running through his soft fur, she watched Harry make a Floo call, speaking quietly enough that she couldn’t make out his words. A few minutes passed, and then Draco was striding out of the fireplace, gaze catching her own as if to confirm she was safe before beelining to Harry where he stood at the table by the wall, the pictures spread out on its surface. The cat in her arms was reaching severe levels of agitation so with a quick kiss to his fluffy head, she released him and off he trotted, probably on the prowl for mice.

Hermione looked around at Harry’s recently renovated home. It was a far different scene than it had been not so many years ago when they used it as headquarters and eventually a hideout. There were big windows along the back to let in the sun, and all the dark, damp corners of what had been a wretched place were now full of light. Or would be, if night hadn’t fallen.

The fear haunting her began to ebb, growing smaller with every minute she sat there, safe on the couch. When she could breathe easily and think clearly again, she rose and walked over to the table where Draco and Harry stood with serious expressions on their faces and tension in their shoulders.

Peeking around the blond to look at both of them, she said, “I should report this to Robards myself. Can I use your Floo, Harry?” 

“Yeah, all right. I reckon he’ll want to speak with us when you’re done.”

Kneeling before the fire, she connected with Robards, informing him of the incident earlier along with a factual list of the other things that had seemed out of place. Obviously she should have let someone know the minute things got strange, but she was only just getting used to being able to rely on others; she didn't think there really was a problem and tried to convince herself it was nothing.

Thankfully, all he did was take her statement and then ask to speak to “Potter and Malfoy.”

When she was done, she set off to the kitchen and put food and water out for Crookshanks for whenever he returned from his gallivanting. It didn't take long, but she couldn't just sit there and let her mind run wild, so she grabbed a rag and began scrubbing the counter with a vengeance, obliterating every last smudge or speck of crumb. By the time she reached the far end of the counter, she was flushed, and the somewhat-smooth ends of her curls were frizzed-out and sticking to her sweaty forehead. 

A low whistle made her spin around to see Harry with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Place hasn’t looked this clean in years. I don’t suppose I could get you to attack the sitting room after this, could I?” The smirk on his face made her roll her eyes even as she walked over to slide her hands over his shoulders and rested her forehead on his chest. 

“I couldn’t just sit around.”

Arms wrapped around her waist. “I know. And I appreciate it. We can eat off that counter now.”

Smiling and shaking her head, Hermione pulled back, one hand covering her mouth to stifle a massive yawn. Distantly, she could hear Draco still speaking to his and Harry’s supervisor, but sleep threatened to pull her in, and she fought to keep her eyes open.

“C’mon.” Guiding her down the hall, Harry helped her into his old Quidditch jersey and tucked her into a guest bedroom, promising to leave the door open should Crooks decide he wanted to sleep beside her.

As she snuggled deeper into the covers, Hermione just barely registered that Draco stood in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched Harry kiss her goodnight.

* * *

Under normal circumstances, Hermione enjoyed spending time at Harry’s home. The main draw—besides Harry—was the library.

It was beautiful, certainly not as expansive as Hogwarts’ own library, of course, but Harry had made it into a warm haven with comfortable chairs and plenty of light. He’d consulted Hermione during the remodelling process, and she was pretty sure he’d done it so she would want to spend more time there.

She knew his game.

In the late afternoon on the day after she’d received the photos, Hermione stretched out on a plush, burgundy chaise reading a book. Robards—head of the DMLE and therefore technically Hermione’s superior—had instructed her last night to stay home today as they figured out what action was needed. 

The sunshine streaming in through the windows warmed her skin, and while she tried to keep any invading thoughts of impending doom out of her head, she shifted, the sundress she wore riding up and kissing her thighs.

As she was turning the page, she heard heavy footfalls out in the hallway. A moment passed, and then Harry was standing in the doorway, propping one shoulder against the frame with a crooked grin on his face.

“Hello, sweetheart.” 

The timbre of his voice sent a shiver inching across her skin. Even as she was reading a perfectly boring account of the effect increased temperatures had on Fluxweed, Harry managed to stoke her desire with just a greeting. 

Her lust was tempered only by her need to know what had happened that day. Turning, Hermione folded her legs underneath her. “Well? What’s the plan?”

Harry collapsed beside her on the couch with a sigh, laying one arm along the back of the chair behind her. Shifting so that she was facing him, her hand found its way to his, and she brushed her thumb back and forth over his knuckles.

“Until we have more information, you’ll be assigned an Auror for protection.”

“Harry, no. That won’t work. I have home visits next week and I can’t be dragging around tall, dark, and scary everywhere I go.” The arm along her shoulders shifted, and his hand came down to rub soothing circles on her arm

He was trying to placate her. He should know better than that.

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable, love.” 

“ _I’m afraid_ you’re wrong. I’m completely fine. Yes, I got spooked and came to you, but that’s hardly a reason to upend my schedule. This is all an overreaction—”

Featherlight fingers under her chin guided her gaze back to his.

“Hermione, I’m not going to argue with you about this. I want you to be fucking safe, okay? Please let me keep you safe.”

Though she hated to admit it, his words _did_ soften her up, and after a long moment, she relented with a nod, though her lips were pursed tight and her eyebrows drawn together as she cast a half-hearted glare in Harry’s direction.

Her acquiescence seemed to calm him, and he visibly relaxed beside her. 

An idea formed, and she picked up her book again, deliberately ignoring the wizard beside her. 

A few moments passed before there was a soft tapping on her shoulder. She glanced up at him quickly, shooting him a playfully annoyed look, before pretending to be far too engrossed in the pages before her to pay attention to him. They both could use the distraction.

It worked.

He sat up, plucking the book from her hands that had been hiding her face which now sported a self-satisfied smirk. 

“You’re predictable, Potter.”

“Predictable, hmm? Well, is this predictable?” He sunk to his knees in front of the sofa at the same time his hands trailed up her calves to grasp her knees. With a yelp, she was facing where he knelt on the floor rather than stretched out on the chaise.

Biting back a smile, she shrugged. “It’s a little spontaneous, I suppose. Not much though.”

With an arrogantly arched brow, he said, “Is that so? So you’re expecting me to do this, then?” He leaned forward and up to kiss her, hand at the base of her skull pulling her down to meet his mouth, his teeth tugging at her bottom lip as they parted. 

She nodded.

“What about this?” His mouth trailed down her neck, over the skin revealed by the deep neckline of her dress. Pressing a kiss just above each breast, his head moved lower. Her eyes had fluttered shut at the tender kisses to her skin, only to fly back open when Harry’s warm, wet mouth closed around her nipple hidden under the delicate fabric of her sundress.

Her sudden gasp of breath melted into a sigh as his hand kneaded the breast that was lonely for his attention while his tongue did something delightful to the other. With a nip to her collarbone, he switched, giving both sides equal attention. As he pulled away, he left damp circles where his mouth had been, and he blew a stream of air at the wet spots, bringing goosebumps to her skin and making her nipples pebble impossibly harder.

Each little touch, each sensation, lifted her higher, stoking her arousal swiftly.

“And this?”

Before Harry had even finished speaking, he used his grip on her knees to tug her forward just a bit, enough so she was now slouched on the chaise. His warm hands landed on her thigh. Without a word or reaching for his wand, he made her knickers vanish and then suddenly his mouth was on her, and she saw colours flash behind her eyelids.

She cried out, back arching off the cushions, one hand finding his head and lightly twisting in his hair.

Hermione felt the tension of the night before start to drain away, replaced by a consuming wave of pleasure, a little more each minute that passed. Her other hand found its way to Harry’s head, fingers sinking into his thick hair as he continued winding her up.

When she was getting close, he paused, pulling back just a little to kiss the tender skin of her inner thighs, the points of her hip bones. 

“Did you need something?” He had the audacity to grin at her and tighten his grip. She whined and bucked her hips back up, tugging at his hair in an attempt to keep him where she wanted him.

She knew he wouldn't give her what she wanted until she asked for it. When he sunk his teeth lightly into the flesh of her upper thigh, she was close enough to the precipice, so close to the edge of sweet oblivion that she gave in without even a show of resistance.

“Harry, please. Please, let me— _Oh.”_

His hands slid from her knees to her hips, holding her steady and keeping her from thrashing, which she was bound to do when he brought his fingers to the party and hit that spot inside her that made her whole body seize up in pleasure, little spots dancing in her vision. He didn’t relent, and finally, the tightly wound tension in her lower belly snapped and released her, leaving her boneless on the sofa, all slack limbs and sweaty skin.

The speed at which he could make her come lately was almost ridiculous. Honestly, she never thought she would call Harry Potter a quick study, given his record in school, but oh, he was. He approached her pleasure with the focus and determination she used to give to complicated Arithmancy problems. 

Her hand was still in his hair, though her grip had gone limp, and she brushed back the messy fringe that had fallen in his eyes.

He rose to his feet, smiling brilliantly at her as he sat next to her on the sofa, pulling her close. His chin rested on the top of her hair, and he said, “Good, huh?”

“Don’t boast, Harry. It’s unbecoming.” His laugh rumbled through his rib cage against her side.

She snuggled deeper into his body, saying, “They let you off early?” 

“Yeah. Draco still had a unit left to finish in that mandatory training we’ve had to do. He should be getting home soon, though. Why don’t we make dinner for him? Or I can make dinner, and you can keep a safe distance away from anything at risk of being burned to a crisp.”

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, mister.”

The Floo roared from the sitting room, and Hermione grinned in anticipation of having Draco to back her up as she dug her fingers into Harry’s side where he was the most ticklish, maniacally delighted when he laughed uncontrollably and tried to squirm away.

Unfortunately, he remembered he was stronger than her and grabbed her wrists.

“Not fair.”

“Oh, it’s very fair. In fact, just to keep things even, I should give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“No!” She tittered like a schoolgirl, much to her embarrassment, squealing when his fingers danced over her ribs.

The slam of a door closing startled her, and she whipped her head around towards the sound.

“Why did he—” Before she could finish her sentence, a strange anger flared in her chest, stealing her breath. It was tinged with a painful ache behind her breastbone that melted into sorrow. She darted her gaze to Harry, unsurprised to see his hands close into fists resting on his thighs as his expression morphed into frustrated confusion.

Her hand flew to her chest as the feeling passed. That was the strongest wave yet.

Harry’s chest rose and fell on a deep breath. “Yeah. Bit like running into a brick wall.”

Hermione’s mind began to spin, trying to figure out why Draco would be so upset, why he would storm out. 

A large hand patted her knee as Harry said, “We’ll figure it out, yeah? For now, maybe we ought to give him some space.” Teeth sinking into her lower lip as she considered his words, she finally nodded, letting Harry pull her up and lead her to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love to know your thoughts, and I always welcome concrit.


	6. Still my guitar gently weeps

The only sound in the small room was the scratching of Hermione’s pen as she sat hunched over her desk. Packing away the worry and confusion she felt into a box to be sorted through later, she’d spent the day buried in her work.

And it had been successful at keeping her mind occupied, for the most part.

At five o’clock sharp, Harry’s shadow darkened Hermione’s office door. “Ready, sweetheart?”

 _Ah, right_. He was there to escort her home. She understood the need for protection, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

Early that morning, Harry had met her at the stairs to her building, beginning day one of her forced protection. Knowing that whoever was after her had dared to lay a finger on Crooks made steam shoot out of her nostrils. All that fear and worry she’d had when she’d found her door open and Crooks acting funny rushed back anytime she thought about the threatening letter she’d received. Frustration coursed through her to heat the tip of her ears when she remembered writing off the strange signs from that day and conceding that Crookshanks must have eaten something outside. 

Someone had entered her home, her safe place, _twice_ , if not more. 

Hypervigilance had stuck with her long after the war ended, and she sometimes second-guessed her instinct, concerned that it might be unfounded paranoia. 

That combined with the other threats had led Hermione to concede this point and accept a security detail. If someone was angry with her for her work, there was a very real possibility that they might try to use one of the children or families she worked with as leverage, and that was unacceptable. She’d never let anything happen to those children; some of them had no one else but her to care for them, to care _about_ them.

Magnanimously refraining from letting herself get riled up about it, _again_ , Hermione nodded at Harry, waving a hand in his direction as her pen flew over parchment. “I just need to finish this.”

Harry sunk into the seat in front of her desk and kicked his boots up on the corner, leaning back with his arms crossed behind his head until Hermione gave him a pointed look.

Releasing a very put-upon sort of sigh, he pulled his feet back and let them fall to the floor with a thunk.

“Sorry.” He sounded like a petulant child who’d gotten caught doing something naughty, and it was so entirely at odds with his very grown-up, very… _manly_ appearance that she had to stifle a chuckle.

As she wrote, she asked, “Any news?”

Unfortunately, she, Harry, and Draco suspected that her stalker _was_ connected to a child she worked with. After Hermione’s encounter with Elenor Walton at the hospital the other day, Harry reached out to contacts with a request to be notified if anyone saw or heard from Elenor’s father since then.

Harry nodded. “He was fired from his job and came back to St. Mungo’s, trying to force his way in to see Elle again.”

Setting her pen on the desktop just a little too harshly, she leaned forward. “They better not have—” 

“No. Not this time. Robards _may_ have put a little pressure put on the hospital staff,” he said, mouth quirked to the side. “This time they actually did their job and denied him.” 

Letting out a huff, she dipped her chin with a single nod. “Lucky for them. Did you read the incident report?”

“He got agitated and the healers had to call for help. They detained him for a short time, but there was nothing to hold him on.”

“And no evidence pointing to him, I suppose?”

“Not yet. We’ll figure it out, Hermione.” When she sighed, he sat up, leaning across the desk to catch her chin and bring her gaze to his. “I promise. Okay?”

She just wanted all this nonsense to be over with so she could get back to putting all her effort into her work.

Adding to the issue, Draco had been missing for days with no word. The last they’d seen of him was when he stormed out of Harry’s home Friday afternoon. Hermione had her theories as to what had happened—namely that his insecurities had gotten the best of him.

The only reason Hermione wasn’t panicked was that she hadn’t _felt_ any true distress. In actuality, she’d felt nothing at all. 

Like he’d gone numb.

“Have you heard from him?”

Harry shook his head, twirling his wand between his fingers. “No one has. Robards has been trying to get a hold of him with no luck. When he wants to disappear, there’s no finding him.”

Though she wasn’t surprised, her brows pinched together as she finished writing a note to Draco.

_Draco, please just let us know you’re alright. We’re worried about you. I miss you. Harry misses you. Come back to us. Plus, you’ve left your bookshelves entirely defenceless. I may not be able to keep from clearing them out with no one there to stop me. You’ll never see them again._

~~_Granger_ ~~ _Hermione_

Signing with a final flourish, she tapped her wand to the letter, duplicated it, and then put each one in its respective envelope. 

Pushing open her window, she sent the letters off with a Ministry-appointed owl—one to his flat and one to his family home just in case he was holed up there. “Alright, we can go now.” 

Like a perfect gentleman—Draco’s debutante manners had clearly rubbed off on him—Harry took her bag and offered his arm. Tucking her hand around his elbow with a smile, she locked up her office, and they set off down the stairs. 

She’d never get used to travelling via the toilets no matter that she did it every weekday and had for years. It was strange, and she always felt the need to take a scalding hot shower afterwards. When they popped out this time, Harry led them down an alley one block away where they could Apparate safely. 

The flicker of a shadow caught her eye and she halted mid-step, scouring the darkness. She found nothing, but knowing the number of strays that wandered this part of town, she figured it was probably just a cat digging through dumpsters for scraps.

Before she could take another step forward, a figure pressed itself against her back, one arm wrapping around her neck and tightening under her chin as the firm press of wood dug into her temple. Driven on instinct and her fight response, her fingers grappled at the intrusion, words failing her as she sank her nails into the forearm crushing her windpipe. The man pressed against her back didn’t twitch, seemingly not registering the pain even as she clawed wildly at him. 

Adrenaline rushed through her like ice water in her veins. Her wand. She needed her wand. Where was her wand?

Harry had spun around as soon as the air shifted beside him, wand drawn. He was quick, reacting only a second after she was grabbed, but it was a second too late.

She watched fire flare in his eyes, burning flames she hadn’t seen in years that guaranteed the destruction of anything in their path.

“You’re going to want to be very careful with what you choose to do next.” Though Harry spoke calmly, there was a threat inherent in the words, and the fury in Harry was mirrored in Hermione, making her chest even tighter, impossible to take a full breath. 

_Where the hell was her wand?_

Closing her eyes, she focused on the magic within her, simmering just below her skin, hoping she could wandlessly summon her wand. Imagining the tendrils like sparkling threads wound around her, she called out, “Accio wand,” hoping for the best.

Nothing.

_Shit._

A raspy voice rumbled against her back, sending unpleasant shivers of revulsion down her spine. 

“Lower your wand.” He sounded deranged, voice unsteady and pitched just a tad too high as he spoke around a tense jaw. 

Harry’s expression stayed hard, but a flicker of incredulity from him whispered across Hermione’s skin. The man at her back was delusional if he thought all it would take to hold Harry off was a poorly presented command.

Curling her fingers around the man’s forearm, she tugged just enough to release some of the pressure on her throat. “What do you want?” she bit out. 

“Fucking Mudblood—it’s all your fault.” His grip tightened on the last syllable, the forearm across her windpipe pressing closer and cutting off her air. Her head throbbed, matching the erratic galloping of her heart as tremors shook the arm wrapped around her. “They wouldn’t let me... It’s your fault!”

It was clear now, though, who was crushing her windpipe. For just a moment, her eyes fluttered closed as memories of her first meeting with Eleanor’s father flashed across her mind. His potion habit had been clear even then and Hermione had hoped it wasn’t insurmountable at the time. Little Elenor had lost her mother and the last thing she needed was additional trauma heaped upon her by her father’s actions.

He faltered, movements sharp and erratic, and just by the way he held her she could tell he wasn’t in his right mind.

Backing up a few steps and pulling her with him, he seemed to realise he couldn’t keep his wand to Hermione’s head as a threat _and_ Apparate at the same time.

Somewhere in her panicked brain, she dimly registered the fact that Harry hadn’t moved, wand still drawn, and she glanced up from scanning the ground for her wand to look into his eyes.

Meeting his gaze grounded her, and her head cleared in less than a moment, all of her possible options illuminated and sorted through rapidly until one broke free of the rest.

Now she just had to communicate it to Harry.

Taking one deep breath in, she focused on Harry. With an almost imperceptible nod, he acknowledged her.

Bringing the heel of her shoe down on the man’s foot as hard as she possibly could, she slammed the back of her head into her captor’s face. A sickening crunch sounded from the collision and she wrenched free from his grip and leapt towards Harry. 

Everything slowed, suddenly and entirely, until it felt like she was underwater. There was a shout and the acrid scent of spellfire in air, curses rebounding in the narrow alleyway as she braced for the impact of whatever spell was surely coming at her.

It never came.

Instead, her vision was obscured by Harry’s back, and in the single moment that passed between the now and what happened next, she absently noticed the fine stitching of his robes, dark brown with golden thread.

When a crackle like that of electricity filled the air, the world snapped back to sharp focus like it had been given a command, and the dreamlike state she’d been in disappeared. Everything happened all at once.

A jet of purple magic barreled at Hermione’s head. Before she could even think well enough to duck, Harry took it instead, the magic colliding with his chest and sending him flying backwards. The sickening thud of his head against the pavement and her resulting scream rang in her ears. 

She stared where he lay crumpled, shock rioting through her system when suddenly a brilliant, pulsing light spread out from the patch of ground where Harry had stood like an aftershock during an earthquake. Hermione felt the magic of it reverberate through her, and she watched in wonder as the next curse flew towards her head only to be stopped midair, dissolving into nothing. 

Quick as a Snitch, the wand that had slipped from Harry’s hand flew to her and landed in her open palm. She had no time to wonder at why it had come to her without prompting. As soon as her fingers curled around the rugged handle, she pivoted, pointing it directly at the wizard standing in stunned silence, mouth agape and eyes wide.

With a firmly spoken incantation, thick coils of rope shot from the wand tip, slithering over the man’s ankles and wrists to pin him to the wall, suspended a bit so his feet dangled just above the ground. Relief rushed through her.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” Pulse pounding in her ears, Hermione threw another spell at him for good measure, her stance tense until she was sure he wouldn’t get free.

The rest of the scene began to bleed back into focus, and she spun towards Harry’s limp body on the ground, falling to her knees beside him and carefully lifting his head just an inch to press her fingers to the back of his skull. When she pulled her hand back, the sticky scarlet blood coating her fingers made her stomach churn, and she fought the urge to be sick all over the pavement.

Each moment after that was hazy. Hermione had no sense of time. Someone—she assumed it was herself—had sent for help, and soon a team arrived, turning the little alley abuzz with activity. 

They took Harry to St. Mungo’s via Portkey as his head injury made Apparation risky, and Hermione was kept at the scene, answering questions and forced to walk officers through the horrid events over and over again, the now familiar words tumbling from her mouth by rote, and when she was finally allowed to leave, the tears she’d been holding back came upon her with a vengeance. She took her wand from the officer who’d found it lying behind a dumpster and left.

When she arrived at the hospital, she ran to the loo to splash water on her face, willing the red to fade from her complexion before she went to see Harry and get information about his condition. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, dragging in slow, steadying breaths until her fingers stopped shaking.

* * *

The walls of the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries were painted a soothing shade of robin’s egg blue. 

Hermione, however, was anything but soothed.

She sat beside a hospital cot on a stool, on which one leg was just a little shorter than the others, and every time she shifted, it wiggled unsteadily. Right hand wrapping itself around her left arm, her fingers tapped an erratic beat on the paper-thin skin of her inner wrist as she clutched her wand with her other hand, her eyes running over the form of the wizard sleeping next to her. 

_He’s alright._

It was a phrase she had to keep repeating when the memory of the sound of Harry’s head cracking against the pavement as he’d been blown back ran through her mind and made her short of breath.

When he’d fallen, her heart had stopped, her whole world narrowing to Harry and his attacker, and for a split second, just a breath of a moment, she’d wanted to rain down Fiendfyre and watch the awful man disappear in a column of flame.

The thought should have scared her, but all she felt was the pleased purr of her magic at the very idea. Inside her was a drive to protect that had always been there after so many years of doing her best to take care of Harry and Ron, but now it was amplified, pain slicing through her heart at the very thought of Harry or Draco being hurt.

Scooting the stool closer, she reached out and pressed two fingers to the inside of Harry’s wrist, breath coming a little easier when the faint pulse of his heart doing its job reminded her that he was alive.

There was no world in which she could live without Harry Potter. He was… everything. The paste that held her together. The knight who fought off her monsters, expecting nothing in return. The linking point between her and the other most important person in her life, someone she’d never thought she would truly know in any way that mattered, and it was one occasion on which she was utterly delighted to have been wrong.

She wanted Draco here, too. She yearned to hold them both close and press her face to their chests, reassuring herself with the warmth of them.

This feeling was familiar. She knew what it was, this ache behind her breastbone. It had been slowly building for weeks now, growing stronger with each kiss, each touch, each night she fell asleep between them, warm and safe.

It grew with every laugh, every soft brush of lips across her knuckles. Each pass of her fingers through silky fair hair or thick black locks stoked it further until it encompassed her entire being, no longer contained in one spot but everywhere, sunken into bone and blood and the very heart of her magic, irrevocably changing her.

The burden of the day caught up with her as she let her eyes fall closed, exhaustion hitting her all at once. Barely a few minutes passed before she felt a surge of anguish that was not unfamiliar but certainly not her own.

Harry was still knocked out cold from the pain potions the Mediwitch had given him and entirely unaware, but a wave of nearly unbearable distress hit her with all the subtlety of a Bludger. Whatever Draco had been doing to keep her from feeling him must have worn off because there was no denying the pain in her chest.

Staring at the door, she waited, unsurprised when a haggard vision of Draco appeared.

On a shuddered breath, he croaked, “What happened?” He looked so defeated, concern and something like guilt etched into every line of his face and the set of his shoulders. “Fucking useless officers out there won’t tell me what’s going on.”

Standing, she rushed to him, throwing her arms around him and fighting back tears of relief that he was whole and there, right in front of her. He was tense beneath her touch but after a moment one arm curled around her, patting her back a few times like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Pulling back, she gestured to the end of the bed. “Sit down.”

He dug his heels in and started to shake his head when she said, “It’s fine. There’s room, and you couldn’t wake him up if you tried. Just sit, Draco. Please.”

The stubbornness in his dark grey eyes flashed for a moment, abating almost as quickly as it had come, and he carefully leaned his hip on the foot of the bed.

That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant, but she would need to tread lightly; he was a thin piece of glass in her hands, ready to shatter at any moment. 

All the emotion she had seen on his face just moments earlier had vanished, replaced by a steel wall of indifference as he waited for her to speak.

“Don’t freak out… but do you remember Elenor?”

Confusion flickered across his face. “Elenor? From downstairs?”

Hermione nodded. “Her father was the one sending me threats. He ambushed us in the alley, high out of his mind. Harry—” Her voice broke, and she had to pause to clear her throat. “He jumped in front of me. He saved my life. The spell propelled him backwards and he hit his head pretty bad.”

“ _What?!_ ” Draco was on his feet, fingers curling in a tight fist. “How in the fuck—” 

“Draco,” she hissed, eyes darting towards Harry. “He doesn’t need this volatility right now; he needs you. Getting upset isn’t going to change what happened.”

Draco considered it a moment, his lips folding in as though he were keeping his anger locked in his mouth. With an agitated click of his jaw, he sat back on the edge of the bed. “Then what happened?”

Brow puckering, Hermione replayed the moment for the countless time. “His wand came to me as some sort of shield went up. Spells melted into nothing before they ever reached me.”

“Like sacrificial magic?” 

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to look up anything about it yet, but it seemed to be something like that. It was powerful. Like live magic vibrating through me. I don’t even know how to explain it, really.” Her vision went a bit blurry as she thought about it, rifling through the files in her mind for something that would make sense of the bizarre events.

“Then what happened?” Draco said softly, bringing her back to the present.

“I incapacitated Elenor’s father and Harry…” The next part was painful to recount.

“It was awful. He was bleeding profusely, unconscious and unresponsive, and I was so—” She cut herself off before she admitted how frightened she’d been, steadying herself with a deep breath and trying again. “I didn’t know what to do. I always know what to do, Draco.” Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she blew out a harsh breath. “I feel so helpless. But I must have sent for help because people came and they took him away from me, and then I didn’t get to see him for hours.”

Empathy flared in his cold eyes, the first hint of real emotion she’d seen since he’d walled himself up. His arm lifted, reaching towards her, and she leant forward, letting him take her hand. 

The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound the _tap tap_ of Draco’s shoe against the linoleum as his thumb brushed back and forth over her knuckles.

“I felt it, you know.” 

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. The sudden wave of high-strung emotions hitting him must have been overwhelming.

“Panic, boiling rage, and surprise, and then it just… blinked out.” His gaze was fixed on a water stain on the floor. “For a minute I thought he… I thought he was gone.”

_Oh._

With slow movements, she stood, hopping off the stool to stand before him, hand still wrapped in his. 

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how scary that must have been. Come here with me.” She tugged at him until he moved with her to the head of the bed, and she guided him with her fingers over his, pressing the flat of his palm to Harry’s chest.

“He’s alright now, see? Steady as a drum.” The reassurance of Harry’s vitality worked as she’d hoped it would, the tension coiled in Draco’s shoulders and neck releasing just a fraction.

The very existence of that stupid stool was still driving her mad, and she flicked her wand in its general direction, pleased when it morphed into a sturdier, four-legged chair. She urged Draco forward, and he sat heavily in the chair, gaze still fixed on the unconscious wizard on the bed. Backing up until her bum met the bed, she planted her hands on the mattress and leaned back.

“Why did you leave? Grimmauld, I mean. The other night.”

A flicker of an unreadable expression crossed his face, but she felt the surge of shame and frustration within him.

“I don’t know. I just…” He paused, roughly running his hand through his hair and pushing it away from his eyes. “It wasn’t you. Either of you.” 

“Okay… then what was it? We haven’t heard from you for days, you didn’t even Floo into work. Robards was—” 

“I don’t give a shite about Robards.” His lips pulled back into a small sneer, and the shame she had felt a moment earlier now billowed off him. “You two don’t get it. You have history and a bond that I’ll never have. You fall into each other and your quirks and your bloody annoying anecdotes and I’m an outsider. I just got added in.” 

“Draco…” 

“Don’t. It’s fine. It’s my penance for the shite I’ve done, but I was stupid for allowing myself to believe that we were in this together because at the end of it all, I’m never going to live up to Harry Potter and the Golden Girl.” 

Her heart seized in her chest, magic unfurling and reaching for him before she could even think to do so. She crossed the space between them, standing so close their knees touched. Hermione cupped her hand at his nape, a question in her eyes as she looked at him. When he released a sigh and finally leaned into her touch, she gently pulled his head to her chest as she spoke in soothing murmurs and stroked her fingers through his dishevelled hair, hoping everything she felt for him in that moment was reflected in his own heart.

“I don’t want you to be Harry Potter, and I definitely don’t want you to be the Golden Girl.” A wry laugh rumbled through him, and she could feel it seep into his soul, his spirits tangibly lifting if even infinitesimally. “I want you, Draco. You don’t have to be anything other than you because you’re already enough.”

She wouldn’t say it yet, those three words. He wasn’t ready. And if she were being honest, she probably wasn’t either.

In a precious, peaceful moment during the practically non-stop turmoil of her youth, she’d allowed herself just once to wish for what might be after all the uncertainty and fighting, and she’d dreamt of a vivid image she was sure she’d never have: a pretty dress and shiny black shoes and flower petals falling softly to the ground.

They weren’t there yet, and that was okay.

But she knew in her heart how she felt, and she hoped that Draco felt it just as viscerally. 

She knew it from the way her world narrowed to just the three of them there in the sterile little room, everything else fading away.

They were it for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3 I’d love to know your thoughts, and I always welcome concrit.


	7. I never heard it singing

With Harry still in the hospital and not having woken up yet, Hermione found herself with large swaths of time just sitting and waiting when she wasn't at work.

After three days in critical care, they moved Harry to recovery in the south wing of the fourth floor. As soon as Hermione had crossed the threshold of his new room, she’d promptly marched right back out to the nurse’s desk. The room was dark and dingy with no natural light, only a humming fluorescent bulb that turned Harry’s skin a sickly shade of yellow and a sad little chair next to his bed. 

She wished she could say that when she spoke to the nurse on duty that she was calm and collected, but days without sleep had pushed her to the brink of sanity. 

So she exploded. She’d asked the poor witch if they knew anything at all about Harry Potter because if they _had,_ they wouldn’t stick him in a lightless room in near isolation, head injury or not. The man had spent eleven years in a godforsaken cupboard. 

It took three nurses, a mediwitch, and the floor supervisor, but an hour later, Hermione was charming a window onto the east wall. The compromise was that it would remain blacked out until Harry requested differently and could handle the strain of light. 

She'd already finished Pride and Prejudice for the fourth time on the fourth day. The measly little library at St. Mungo's had been picked clean with little to offer in the way of intellectual sustenance, so when Draco visited after work, she requested access to the substantial Malfoy library, which contained books she’d never seen before, not even in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. Old tomes collected by generation after generation and lovingly passed on to the next filled the stacks, and Hermione found herself wanting to borrow each and every one her fingers touched. 

In a small corner of the library, she’d stumbled across a book with a strange marking on its spine that caught her attention. Immediately, she’d plucked it free and soon found herself lost in its pages. The phenomena listed on its worn pages described exactly what she, Harry, and Draco had been experiencing these past few weeks. As she’d continued on, she found that magic binding three or more individuals together without implicit intent from all parties was rare but not unheard of. 

She'd tucked it in her bag and brought it with her to visit Harry today. She’d just gotten to the section on the various ways such a bond could be invoked when a mumbled expletive filled the air, and she quickly turned to the door.

" _Shit._ " A few seconds later, Draco appeared, juggling a paper bag and two to-go cups.

"What are you—" Recognising the logo, she cut herself off as a smile curved her lips. "You went to Bisset? By yourself?"

With a casual shrug as if retrieving coffee and pastries at a Muggle bakery was perfectly normal for him, he set the bag on the little side table and carefully manoeuvred one cup into her hand.

"Yes."

"Where did you get the money?"

"Stole it from a bank."

She whipped her head around. _"You what?"_

Raising one eyebrow, he said, "What? It's not like it's a big deal. They'll never even notice anything is missing. Magic is quite useful for heists, as you know."

Resisting the urge to defend herself with, "It was _one_ time," she just blinked at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing so many times she probably resembled a fish.

He threw a charming smile that showed off his annoyingly white teeth her way and dropped his act.

"You're too easy to rile up, Granger," he said with a chuckle. "I exchanged it."

"Oh." At that moment, she realised she'd never really thought about that before; of course, there was currency exchange for magical society. Was it a service offered by Gringotts? She'd never seen anything about it, but she supposed that it would be a perfect task for Muggle-borns who could slide between both worlds without much fuss. _I wonder if—_

“Hermione.” 

Blinking back into focus, she said, “Hmm?”

“As I was trying to say, here is your disgustingly sweet concoction. Why you like it that way is far beyond me." Handing over her cup, he dropped into the other chair they'd dragged in from the waiting room and dug into the pastries, paper sack crinkling as he pulled them out.

With a small smile, she said, "And what did you get?" 

"Tea, obviously. I have class, unlike some people." The exaggerated sniff that followed his statement had her chuckling loudly at his antics.

Mid-laugh, she turned her head sharply to the side.“Did you hear that?”

The faint grunt didn't repeat, but the blankets pulled up over Harry's chest shifted, and his eyes fluttered open for the first time in days.

They rushed to his side, his name and mumbled words falling from their mouths in their excitement.

“Harry?” Hermione’s hands floated over his body; she was unsure what she ought to do with them and then sharply clasped them and let them hang in front of her. His chest rose and fell on a deep breath, and suddenly she was staring at bright green eyes.

"Will you two…" She and Draco leaned in closer, listening intently as he continued, "Shut the fuck up, please?"

She clapped a hand quickly over her mouth before a peal of laughter could escape and potentially make his head hurt worse. 

Conjuring up her best admonishing glare, she let her fingers slip down her chin and said, " _Harry,_ you can't swear in a _hospital_. It's a rule or something."

The faintest of smiles touched his lips, though his eyes were barely open. "Come here, you little swot.”

Moving to the head of the bed, Hermione leaned in, clasping his hand gently in hers and brushing a kiss on his cheek, a squeak of surprise leaving her when he tugged her arm so she fell partially on the bed, her weight on one elbow as she leaned lightly against his chest. He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss of sweet, true happiness, and when the shock left her, she found herself melting into him.

Losing herself for just a moment, she slid her fingers into his wild hair, pulling a groan from him that immediately prompted her to pull back in panic, worried that she'd hurt him.

“That was a good groan, Hermione.”

“Oh. _Oh.”_

“What are you doing back there?” Glancing over her shoulder at Harry’s words, she found Malfoy hovering behind her, relief and guilt cycling through his expression.

Despite the talk she’d had with him, she knew that it would take time for him to move on from feeling like he was responsible for Harry being hurt, like things would have been different if he’d just been there and not off on his own.

“Get over here, Malfoy.” 

With a smirk and a raised eyebrow, he stayed where he was, saying, “Lying in a hospital bed lessens the effect of that commanding air you’re trying to summon, you know.”

“I could try a different sort of command... if you’d like.” One corner of Harry’s mouth turned up in that slow, predator grin of his as his eyes darkened.

It set desire burning low in Hermione’s belly, but she pushed it away. “Behave, you two. A healer could walk in at any moment!”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, sweetheart?” Her heart warmed at the endearment. It had been too long since she’d heard him call her that, and hearing it now was like cradling a hot cup of tea in her palms, warming her from the outside in.

“Out of the way, Granger.” Draco had finally sprung into action, his hands on her hips gently moving her to the side so he could reach Harry.

She watched them exchange the same sort of kiss Harry had given her just minutes before, one full of longing and unspoken promises, and she was overwhelmed by gratitude to the universe for bringing her here to this moment, to these men. 

* * *

When Hermione awoke Monday morning to find Crookshanks sitting on her chest and demanding to be fed, for once she didn't wish for five more minutes of sleep.

Today would be a good day. 

Today, she got to take Elenor home to her grandmother where she would be loved, safe, and cared for.

Her father was in prison, awaiting a trial for his crimes. Hermione hoped the court would understand that while he did wrong, he was a lost man with an illness that was destroying him from the inside out. He'd be a perfect candidate for rehabilitation measures.

Giving her cat a good scratch behind the ears, she hoisted him into her arms and walked to the kitchen.

“Are you feeling better now? We had quite the scare, didn’t we?”

It had been more than a week since the disturbing events that led to the arrest of Elenor’s father, but each time Hermione came home from work, she had her wand drawn and ready, always immediately seeking out Crookshanks and confirming that he was all right before she could even do something as simple as toe off her shoes or hang up her purse.

Receiving nothing in return for her question but a perturbed mewl from her grumpy little Kneazle, she set him down and filled his bowl, pleased that she’d woken up early and could get ready for work leisurely rather than the mad dash she usually performed.

When she was ready to go, she blew a kiss to Crookshanks and equipped the doors with extra wards, just in case.

Reaching the hospital and stopping at the desk manned by a medi-witch to check in as a visitor of the Children's Ward, Hermione made her way to the far corner where Elenor's bed had been.

The sound of a quiet giggle brought a lightness to Hermione's heart, and she pushed aside the curtain to see a healer knelt beside a chair that housed Elle, helping her put on her shoes as she squirmed in place.

"Miss 'Mione!"

She looked better than she had the last few times Hermione had seen her. There was a sparkle in her eyes again, and she had more of her energy back. The heaviness that had been hanging over her since her father’s unauthorised visits had lifted, and she looked like a happy, healthy little witch once more, her hair done up in a messy braid that was already starting to fall out.

“We’re going to Grandma’s?”

Smiling, Hermione said, “We are! Do you have your things?”

The little girl gave an enthusiastic nod, but her face fell shortly after, tiny brows knitted together. “I have everything except Rooly," she said as she bounded up from the chair to stand before Hermione.

Digging into her bag with one hand, Hermione grinned when her fingers caught on her fluffy target and pulled the mystery object out to present it to Elle.

Big, blue eyes went round as saucers, and then a little shriek of delight erupted from her as she took the stuffed hippogriff from Hermione's hands and clutched it to her chest.

"You found him!"

_Sort of._

The one her father had taken was never recovered, but Hermione made a quick stop into Diagon Alley and picked up a new hippogriff plushie identical to the one Elenor had lost.

Seeing her small, pudgy hands reverently petting her beloved plush creature reinvigorated Hermione; there was nothing better than the pure, unadulterated joy of a child.

It took a lot of convincing and a little skill to wrangle Elle into her coat as she clutched at her stuffed animal, refusing to part with him for even a moment, but they managed. Hermione led them down the hallway to the fireplaces, listening to Elenor as she asked a barrage of questions about this and that, wondering what the nurses had for pudding after dinner, and “How does the Floo work, Miss ‘Mione?”

Hermione did her best to answer the queries, a wide grin on her face from the non-stop chattering.

They finally reached their destination, coming to a stop in front of a cosy little cottage with a bright purple door. Before they could knock, it swung back and Elenor dashed forward, leaping into her grandmother’s open arms.

The older witch hugged her granddaughter tight, unshed tears shining in her eyes as she looked at Hermione, mouthing, “Thank you,” above Elle’s head. 

The words went straight to Hermione’s heart. Knowing she made a difference, even in the smallest of ways, was all she needed to keep her going. It’s what spurred her to work harder, longer hours, to _do more._

After a quick look around to make sure the house was fit for a child, Hermione bid good-bye to Elenor and Mrs. Walton with a promise that she’d see them next week for a follow-up visit.

When she made it back to her office at the Ministry, she stood looking out the window for a moment, breathing in deeply and letting herself feel satisfied at the resolution of a terrible situation.

Not many of her cases had happy endings. The ones that did she stored away like memories in a vial, taking them out and remembering when things got hard and it felt like everything she did pushed her a step back instead of forward.

“Good day?” 

Turning to the door, Hermione smiled at Katie Bell as she plopped down into the chair in front of the desk, tearing the pastry in her hands in two and handing one half to Hermione, who accepted the proffered treat and sank into her own chair, taking a bite and nodding as she swallowed.

“Very. I had a happy ending for a child I wasn’t sure would have one. It felt wonderful.”

“You really are changing lives, Hermione. I know it feels like slogging through a bog most days, but you’re doing _good_. I’m not sure I’d have the gumption to do what you’re doing, laying out a whole new system and changing the way things have been handled for the last century. It’s brave.” She pointed her pastry at Hermione and waggled her brows. “Very Gryffindor of you. I approve.”

Licking a smudge of icing off her thumb, Hermione chuckled. “Once a lion, always a lion.”

“Hear hear,” Katie cheered, lifting her snack to knock it into Hermione’s like they were in a pub. “Now, tell me about your wizards. It’s been far too long since you’ve updated me. I need details of your grand romance, Granger. Have some pity on this poor old maid.”

With a hearty laugh, Hermione grinned. “Ever the drama queen, aren’t you?.” 

The silly witch blew her a kiss. “And you love it. Now,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially, though the effect was somewhat lessened by the smear of icing on her upper lip, “spill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I’d love to know your thoughts <3


	8. It feels so right

_"_ Is there a way to control it? Using principles of Occlumency, perhaps?”

Hermione looked up from the table cluttered with books and empty teacups. Across from her, Draco was leaning forward on his propped up elbow as he examined a scroll full of her notes.

His massive family collection of tomes had proved to be invaluable in her research to find out what had happened to the three of them. The book she'd originally found in his library didn't go into much detail, but the attic—full of dodgy looking knick knacks that gave off a sinister aura and portraits of long-dead relatives relegated to their dusty prison for spewing blood purity nonsense—was a treasure trove.

In a small trunk, she'd found a stack of letters tied with twine and a journal kept by an ancestor of Draco's, dating back to the early 1800s. 

Far, far back in his family tree, a female Malfoy—a rare occurrence—had bucked tradition and the expectations put upon her by her parents, and bound herself to not one, but two Muggle-born witches.

Their coming together was purposeful, but the information found in the journal and the letters she'd sent to her sister after she'd been disowned combined with the book Hermione had found at the manor was just enough for Hermione to piece together an explanation for their own, accidental binding.

Carefully turning to a page somewhere in the middle, Hermione set the journal down and slid it to Draco, finger tapping on the pertinent passage.

"She writes of having mastery over the shared feelings. It sounds very similar to Occlumency but it took years."

"Well that doesn't matter to us, does it? We've got time."

She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips when she looked up at him to find him feigning nonchalance, leant back in his chair and flipping through the worn diary as if he hadn't just said something that melted her heart.

"We do." 

* * *

On Friday after working late into the evening, Hermione came home to find the house quiet; she and Draco had been staying at Grimmauld through Harry's recovery along with Crookshanks. 

Her half-kneazle was used to being the king of his domain and usually when she arrived home, Crooks was terrorizing Kreacher and Harry was there trying to calm him down and keep the elf from turning her cat into a pin cushion.

The silence was nice for a change, and she revelled in it before setting down her bag and heading upstairs.

Crossing the landing at the top of the stairs, she heard a rumbly voice. Curiosity stirred, she peeked around the half-open door of the biggest bedroom. Harry was propped against the headboard, his hair even messier than usual and hanging over his eyes, with Draco's head in his lap. 

Fingers gently running through pale hair, Harry had his eyes closed while Draco read from a book floating above him, turning the page with a flick of his wand.

It was downright domestic, and Hermione stood there for a moment, drinking it in.

"The exact angle of the wand will affect the accuracy of the cast. When purple smoke appears, it has been cast correctly. There may be some damage to the skin… Oh look, a handy dandy picture. _Some_ damage?” Draco’s voice was laced with disbelief. “His face is half melted."

“Only half, though,” Harry said.

"Interesting bedtime reading choice."

Two sets of eyes snapped up to meet Hermione's as she nudged the door open with her hip and stepped into the room.

“Right, well, got to keep old Potter here from getting rusty. He’ll be back to work soon and have completely forgotten how to cast a simple Scourgify.”

Harry flicked Draco’s forehead with his index finger. “Shut up, you.” Ignoring Draco’s growl at the mild mistreatment, he glanced back at Hermione. “Long day, love?”

Kicking her shoes off by the door, she crawled onto the tall bed, sliding in beside Harry and tucking her feet underneath her as she snuggled into his side.

“That's an understatement." Laying her head on Harry's shoulder, she gently stroked Draco's fringe back from his forehead and recounted her standoff with the stubborn, narrow-minded old wizards on the Wizengamot.

"I was two seconds from jumping the aisle and throwing a few well aimed hexes their way before Kingsley stepped in."

Harry's chest shook with a laugh. "Good thing. We would've had to come bail you out, little jailbird."

"Imagine the headlines for that one," Draco said. "Former war heroine takes out entire Wizengamot single-handedly before being hauled off to Azkaban."

Harry joined in, pitching his voice to sound like an old timey radio announcer. "Witnesses report that the ends of her hair were actually _sparking_ in her rage."

Lightly, she poked Harry's side with her index finger, waiting for the two of them to settle before she continued. 

"It's just… They sit there in their privilege and pretend not to notice the people of their community—a community they are _supposed to be serving_ —crying out for help."

Harry caught her hands, carefully uncurling her fingers to reveal little crescent moons dug into her skin.

"It's infuriating," she huffed.

"I know." His thumb smoothed across her palm, soothing the red marks.

Calming, she let herself melt into his side, hand still gently stroking through Draco's hair. They sat there in silence for a while, soaking up the quiet peace.

Internally, however, Hermione's thoughts were spinning a mile a minute.

It felt like the right time for what she wanted to say, but she was feeling a bit queasy with nerves all of a sudden.

She was brave. She could do this. 

_I can do this_. _Right?_

Another minute passed and then in a jumble of words that were far less elegant than she'd hoped they'd be, she said, "I think I love you. Both of you."

The stark, tense silence that followed was nearly drowned out by the sound of her pulse beating in her ears as she stared in the opposite direction of the two people to whom she'd just blurted out her heart.

But seconds later, Draco pulled himself to a sitting position, and Harry's hand caught her chin, turning her to face them, one corner of his mouth tucked up in a soft smile.

“I’ve always loved you, Hermione. You know that. It’s looked different over the years, but it's always been there. _You've_ always been there."

Cradling the side of Harry's face in her hand, she leaned into him for a moment, smiling.

The bed shifted slightly as Draco sat up straighter, and they both turned to look at him.

“I— I feel the same." 

It was hard for him to say it, she knew. 

But he showed it. 

It was clear in the way he gently pulled her from her paperwork at night to make sure she really slept, in the way he'd bring by a new bag of kibble for Crooks before she even realised it was getting low. It was obvious in the way he pulled her and Harry close sometimes, clutching them tightly after a particularly gruesome day in the field, as though if he let go for even a moment, they'd be snatched away like everything else in his life.

And now, he showed it in the way he threaded his fingers through Harry's and tugged Hermione closer with his free hand, pressing a soft, tender kiss to her forehead.

"You could move in, you know." Harry stared at their clasped hands for a moment, uncharacteristically nervous, before he took a deep breath and met her gaze, then Draco's. "There's room."

"For Crooks too?" she asked with one eyebrow raised.

"And Midgeon?" Draco added.

Chuckling, Harry nodded. "Yes, Crooks and Midgeon too." With a wince, he said, "Kreacher will just have to get used to a busier house."

"Home," Hermione said, reaching for their hands and giving a squeeze. "It's a home."

* * *

Hermione was happy to be rid of her tiny flat for a number of reasons; not only did she no longer feel safe there, but the renovations Harry had done at Grimmauld Place had turned it from a rather dismal townhouse to a place with lots of light and a library just big enough to get lost in, and she moved her things over in an afternoon.

Draco wasn't ready to give up his place just yet, but it happened to be closest to the Ministry, and they all often crashed there during the week.

Though it had taken time, Draco decided his family home was too full of ghosts and pain. He didn't want the reminder anymore, and he passed it off to some distant cousin.

Before handing over the estate, the three of them took a weekend to clear everything out and pack up anything Draco wanted to keep. 

There wasn't much he didn't throw in the bin. The hollow ache she felt flare in her chest as they packed away the remnants of his childhood room didn't come from her, and it told her all she needed to know about his memories of this place.

She understood. Just being there again sent a shiver of unease down her spine, despite her rational brain knowing full well that the monsters she felt lurking just around the corner were long gone; they couldn't hurt her anymore. 

They couldn't hurt anyone anymore.

_Good riddance._

Just as Hermione waved her wand and watched the last of the boxes stack themselves in a neat pile, a crack of thunder shook the ground, and she ran to the large windows in time to see the sky open as a deluge of rain began to fall.

Barely managing to keep herself from squeaking with excitement, she ran around to the back door, kicked her shoes off, and dashed out into the rain.

It had been so long since she'd let herself feel this way, barefoot in the grass, being silly for no other reason than because it simply made her happy.

Harry followed her out, his glasses covered in droplets the moment he stepped off the porch, but he didn't seem to mind as he grabbed her by the waist and twirled her around, her head tipping back as they spun, joyful laughter bubbling out of her.

When they slowly came to a halt, she grasped his forearms to steady herself and turned to stare pointedly at Draco where he stood under the awning, arms crossed over his chest.

"This is ridiculous. You two do realize you have the ability to not be drenched right now?"

"That's entirely besides the point," Harry said—shouted, really. The rain was coming down hard on the stone patio and the fountain, nearly drowning out his voice.

Distaste crinkled Draco's nose as he stared doubtfully at them.

Cupping her hand by her mouth to be heard over the downpour, she said, "You've never played in the rain? Not even as a kid?" 

He shrugged. "It's messy. And cold."

"It's fun, Draco.” She waved him over. “Come here."

Shaking his head, he started to back up as she pulled away from Harry and beelined in his direction, but she caught his wrist and pulled the cloak from his shoulders, hanging it from a loop in the wrought iron encasing the porch and tugging him forward.

Fat drops of rain flattened his hair to his forehead, and he pushed it back to keep it out of his eyes, tentatively turning his palm to the sky, watching as the rain collided with a _splat_ and dripped off the side of his hand. 

She pushed up on her toes and kissed him, swallowing the sound of surprise that melted into a moan as he tried to tug her closer. Dancing just out of his reach, she tipped her head back and said, "See? Fun."

"Sure it is, as long as you keep doing that." He lunged forward trying to grab her, and she shrieked, sprinting away from him and darting behind Harry who smoothly stepped out of the way.

"Traitor!" Before she could get away, Draco caught her, pulling her against him and cradling her face between his hands for a kiss that burned through her, evaporating the chill from the rain.

In the exact opposite of the events that had just occurred, she couldn't get close enough to him, her arms twining around his neck as she pressed into him.

Draco picked her up and guided her legs around his hips, stumbling back towards the manor with Harry in tow.

They were all soaked through now and dripping onto the marble floors, but that didn't seem to matter because they were safe and together, and the only thing she could feel coursing through any of them was pure, undiluted contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After approximately 84 years, I'm posting the final piece of my first multichapter fic! Thank you for your understanding and patience when my posting schedule went all wonky. The support and feedback I've received on this story are absolutely invaluable, and I'm so grateful for my readers! I haven't been very good about replying to reviews lately, but please know that each and every one is dearly treasured <3
> 
> So much love to my alpha/beta dream team, LadyKenz347 and ravenslight! I am also endlessly thankful for MidnightValkyrie, QuinTalon, and Maurauve and the encouragement and support they gave me.
> 
> If you want to catch me elsewhere, I'm active on Tumblr @nuclearnik and I post fanart on my Instagram @nikcole.art!


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